The World Order
by Dirty Reid
Summary: Fudge's denial of Voldemort's return gave rise to a period of paranoia and fear. Dumbledore choosing to involve part of a collective almost as old as time itself did little to soothe the matter.
1. A Plea for Aid

**The World Order**

**A ? x Harry Potter Crossover by Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: This is an idea I've had for a while. I'll only be doing this story, but I am authorizing spinoffs if you believe you can write them. If you wish to, drop me a PM and I'll send you the necessary information.**

**Chapter 1: A Plea for Aide**

* * *

Voldemort was back.

This information was exceedingly troublesome, but not unexpected, thought Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Somewhere, deep within his heart, Dumbledore knew that Harry Potter had not truly vanquished the Dark Lord that night thirteen years ago. Tom was simply too dead set on immortality to give up like so many believed he had.

He and Harry had dueled; Harry had survived. Dumbledore knew that he would. It was in Harry's nature as a true-born survivor. But now the blood protection over Harry's home would be completely worthless. He would have to see to that.

Another pressing issue was the attitude of the Ministry. Despite having many of the facts thrown in his face, Cornelius Fudge steadfastly refused to acknowledge the return of Voldemort. He had not uttered it aloud, but Dumbledore always knew it was a mistake to allow Cornelius control of the country. His denial would soon translate to paranoia, and he would undoubtedly attempt to discredit anyone who preached the truth, starting with Harry and him.

'_Let us hope that the former members of the Order will hear young Sirius out and join us in resistance.' _Dumbledore hoped mentally. Having been through more than fifty years of politics though, the old man knew that things would not be so simple. Those who gained power were deathly afraid of losing it. Fudge and Voldemort were just two examples. If Dumbledore thought he knew Fudge, he was fairly certain that someone form the Ministry would be assigned to spy on both him and the school. More likely than not, this spy would be given authority to restrict the teachings of Hogwarts, or possibly strip him of his position. Harry would not be safe either. Fudge, and by extension the Ministry itself, would be on his heels like a starved Cerberus, waiting for him to trip up once before pouncing. Blatant abuse of power.

If there was one thing Dumbledore knew above all else, it was that he would be hard-pressed to protect Harry for the coming year. Short of shadowing him everywhere as though he were a child, the Boy-who-Lived would be much more vulnerable with the gathering turmoil within the government. The chances of him finding a witch or wizard who would and _could_ protect Harry constantly were slim to none. For a moment, Albus Dumbledore was silent, lost in thought; searching for a solution to Harry's vulnerability.

A little known fact about Dumbledore was his tell. Whenever he was alone, and under a great deal of stress, he would unconsciously scratch his right clavicle. This time though, when he involuntarily brought his hand up to scratch his clavicle, his long fingers brushed a thin grey chain he hid under his voluminous robes, and occasionally forgot about.

It was as if someone had hit a 'Stop' button on the geriatric wizard, and increased the twinkle in his eyes to 'glinting' status. Slowly, his bony hand reached further down the collar of his robes to grasp the thin chain whose use as a solution had just been slammed into the forefront of his mind. It had been part of him for so long that it felt almost strange lifting the warm grey chain off of his skin and pulling it off of his head.

To anyone who could have been scrying upon the scene, they would have seen an old man holding a faded, coppery medallion. Nothing could be further from the truth. What Dumbledore held was a piece of Silex Victus: Living Rock. It was a sentient, semi-omniscient material, linked to seven other pieces and their retainers. Upon the coppery stone medallion was an eight-pronged star. It had not started with eight prongs; as other medallions were created, the living rock would shift and twist to indicate another had been created. Emblazoning the opposite side was an open-palmed hand with a small sphere in it, symbolizing the first refined form of magecraft, tracing back to ancient Mesopotamia.

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured to himself as he stared at the ancient piece of stone. "I believe this warrants the attention of the Order." He finished before conjuring a roll of parchment and a simple black quill. As he began to write his message, a small, uncharacteristically mischievous grin flitted across Dumbledore's face.

'_Fudge may play dirty,' _he intoned mentally _'but he fails to realize that I can as well.'_

It took Dumbledore almost ten minutes to write his letter detailing the conundrum he found himself in, what he expected his intended contact to do, and give said contact some information detailing his world. You see, Dumbledore's intended contact lived in an extremely isolated environment which meant that most, if not all of its inhabitants- both warrior and civilian- had never heard of magic. His intended contact though, was also in possession of a Silex Victus medallion, which would have given him some knowledge of the world beyond his borders.

After he had finished inking his letter, he set about waving his wand over the parchment and whispering several spells: One changed his carefully scripted letter into a completely different dialect; the other was a Soundproofing Charm that would activate when the letter was opened. With a whisper of "_Portus proprius,_" Dumbledore created a slightly modified Portkey out of a gold Galleon, which he placed in the envelope with his letter. He closed the envelope and pressed the Silex Victus to the flap. The medallion grew warm and bright for a split second, and when it faded, a red wax blob with the eight-pronged star sealed the envelope shut. Turning the envelope over one last time, Dumbledore took his quill and wrote eight ominous words upon the front of the envelope, which promptly changed dialects, but still stated thus:

'_In discord, We unite; for peace, We strive.'_

It may have only seemed like an ominous quote or mantra, but it had a purpose that only the retainers of the Silex Victus, past and present, knew. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, sensed that he was needed and lazily fluttered from his perch. Wordlessly, the Headmaster of Hogwarts tied the letter to his Familiar's leg.

"Do be careful when you are delivering this letter, Fawkes." Dumbledore said to his beautiful bird. "I would not like to save you like I did last time."

Fawkes cocked his head to the side and let out an indignant chirp, followed by a still pleasant-sounding squawk. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes, I am sure you did not intend to end up where you did, but allow me to remind you that we almost did not make it out of Moria alive." He answered with a pointedly raised eyebrow. Orcs were little trouble, and trolls were only a slight annoyance, but having to stand against an eighteen foot Balrog- a corrupted creator of the Earth- in complete blackness was by no means easy. While it had little in the ways of magical ability, control of fire and shadows notwithstanding, it was nearly impervious to every spell the old man had thrown at it. Only a complex string of borderline Dark curses had stunned it long enough for him and Fawkes to make their exit.

With one last indignant look, Fawkes flapped his wings once and began to glow a brilliant gold. A brief increase in the magnitude of the light he emitted faded to reveal that the phoenix had gone. For several moments, Dumbledore's office, dimly lit despite the late hour, was completely silent, save the mixed false and legitimate snoring of the portraits. As he crossed his fingers in front of his face and hunched over in the waning light of the torches and lamps in his office, he began to envision possible outcomes of the events he had just set in motion.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore could do little to turn the future the Ministry would soon be creating and ensure the protection of Harry Potter and the Magical World.

Warlord Dumbledore though… he was another story entirely.

* * *

**There we have it, the first chapter of my new crossover! What does this Silex Victus medallion signify? Who could Dumbledore's mysterious contact be? She/He's not from Middle-Earth, if that's the idea you're getting. Lastly, why did he refer to himself as Warlord? Let me know when you:**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**-5- Try to answer the questions listed above to the best of your abilities**

**That's all for now, though. See you next time!**

**DR**


	2. A Call to Arms

**The World Order**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: Just because I can, I'll be setting this during the present time (2010).**

**Chapter 2: A Call to Arms**

**WARNING: DETECTING LEMON SIGNATURES!**

* * *

For the last year and a half, his life had had progressively less chaos in it, and had become far more orderly. Becoming part of a Special Operations team was the guilty factor. His instructors did not tolerate disorganization and deviance from protocol. More than a few faint scars were testament to such.

That wasn't to say there weren't benefits to organization. His new apartment no longer looked as though a tornado had torn through it: His small collection of books were neatly stacked on a wall rack; his notes and an incomplete draft of his next novel lay in trays on his plain black desk. All of his kitchenware was placed in appropriate doors, and his fridge, once stacked with non-nutritional food of low value, was now occupied by fruits, vegetables and meats.

Such benefits were not simply from organization, but from the extra money he was paid as part of his SpecOps team. They were often, if not always, tasks deemed suicidal. Others had fallen while attempting to complete them. He and his cohorts though, seemed to have a penchant for the impossible. They returned from their voyages beaten, bloodied, broken, and near dead more often than they cared to count, but they returned. As it was, their fellow soldiers had deemed the four 'The Suicide Missionaries'.

These missions also made for great stories whenever he was out at one of the many bars around his home. No matter what, women always liked a man who lived on the edge. His dangerous stories and demeanour caused them to sidle up to him in droves. Few of them were looking for a relationship beyond a one-night stand though.

'_Must be something for women to brag about, saying you slept with one of the Suicide Missionaries.' _He reasoned once. Despite that, he never got tired of meeting strange and new women, drinking with them, flirting, bringing them home to have sex, saying goodbye the next morning and not hearing from them again. The few that weren't interested in a one-night stand, but were similarly not looking for a committed relationship, were content to simply be friends with benefits. With an amused and slightly perverse smile, he thought of the two women who considered themselves such.

'Blondie' was an interesting one. She had been one of his classmates nine years or so back. They had both entered service at the same time, but neither knew each other particularly well. It was only after an act of extreme terrorism, the neutralization of an international threat and the death of a traitor at his hand did they start to get to know each other. It hadn't started out as much, just them chatting and bickering about whatever came to mind. He had brought her to one of his favourite dives after about a month of their whatever-it-was. When she had complained about the seediness of his establishment of choice, he imparted upon her some wisdom:

"The holes in the walls are always better." **(This is actually really true. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.) **A couple drinks later, she heartily agreed. They went out drinking a couple more times whenever they had a night off or after he had secured a mission with her. It was after their sixth bar rendezvous that things took a turn for the sexy. Both of them had had a fair bit of drink, so it was not beyond the realm of possibility that they were willing to do a couple things they probably wouldn't do while sober. 'Things' here having the meaning of wrapping their arms around the other and locking lips. They had been somewhat awkward when next they saw each other, but not because they were uncomfortable being so intimate with each other, but because neither was readily willing to admit they liked it. Both were unwilling to do so out of fear of rejection. It was only after they had gotten sick of skirting the issue that they admitted how they felt about the issue.

That admission had led them to kissing and cuddling with each other while sober. That had lead to lustful fondling and finally sex. The morning after, she had told him that she didn't fancy the idea of settling into a committed relationship. Apart from it being a liability in regards to their profession, she said that while she enjoyed the sex, she just didn't think of him as 'lover material'. It had stung him slightly, but he had agreed. Part of _his_ reason though, was that he wasn't exactly willing to give up the one-night stands he was so fond of. Not that he would ever admit that. Imagine his shock when she said she wouldn't object to hooking back up with him every now and then, regardless of his love life. He had taken a second or two to process what she was propositioning him, but had agreed after a moment. A goodbye quickie sealed the deal.

What he found interesting about her- besides the fact that she would sleep with him even though he screwed other women- was that while she was, quite frankly, a bitch, she took orders like a puppy in the bedroom. Fellatio, odd new positions, roleplaying and even sodomy were events that she would perform if he asked her to. Hell, she had even watched him with another woman once or twice.

The though of his acts of exhibitionism brought him to thoughts of his second friend with benefits. She was even more of a bitch than Blondie. She had a better reason though: She was from a 'noble' family. They had met each other one day by… Okay, she had revealed that she had been watching him for some time after he had had enough of her 'inconspicuously' following him around and swept her off her feet. She had attempted to act indignant in order to cover how flustered she was. Having no patience for the 'tude normally displayed by nobles, he had unceremoniously dropped her on her ass and walked away. He almost had to make a trip to the hospital to repair his ears, she had screamed at him so loudly. He had exasperatedly asked her why she was following him around if he was 'beneath her', to which she had responded "BECAUSE I WANT TO FUCK YOU!"

She later said that she could have died of embarrassment right there and then, but the look on his face was too priceless to go to heaven just yet. She was just thankful that they were in a more isolated part of their home. When he finally recovered from the shock and asked her _why_ she wanted to 'fuck him', she mumbled with a red face that she had made a bet that she could lose her virginity before her sister. She added that she was also curious about sex, it being a discouraged topic of conversation and research by her family.

It was at that point that an idea only a true deviant would come up with- not that he _was_ a deviant in any way, no sir- entered his head. Blondie was supposed to be coming over for a little 'quality time' later; what better way to surprise her than with a 'gift'? The grin on his face must have scared her, because she squeaked in fright when he slung her up over his shoulder and whisked her off to his apartment. She had started yelling at him when he put her down on his bed, partly out of being mad at being carried around like a piece of luggage, partly out of having second thoughts about having sex for the first time. She had forgotten about her second thoughts when he said he would be "Punishing her for being such a naughty little girl."

Imagine Blondie's surprise when she walked in on him with a younger girl over his lap with her shorts down around her knees, squealing as he spanked her rapidly reddening bum. He stopped his punishment to laugh at her blank face, and explained the situation, punctuating the end of each sentence with a flick of his open hand, slapping the younger girl's bum lightly. It was then that Blondie discovered that the younger girl wasn't squealing out of pain… but _pleasure_.

Kinky.

He told her that she could watch as he played with his new catch, as said catch wasn't interested in a three-way. She had to admit, watching him make the younger girl moan and cry out in pleasure by kissing, caressing and licking her pale and skinny body while she played with herself was almost as fun as being on her back, belly or hands and knees as he pounded into her.

The live porno had slowed down when he thrust into her for the first time, causing her to scream in pain as he wrapped his arms around her. They had remained still for a few moments before he slowly renewed his strokes. She had started to make the cutest little squeaks as his pace quickened and the power of his thrusts increased. She had almost stopped masturbating out of shock when the younger girl began to use language so colourful for someone her age that she was fairly sure she did a full body blush. He however, only seemed more aroused by the dirty talk, and began to pound into her with renewed vigor. She came close to climax when his partner was brought into the throes of her first ever orgasm. Her back arched; her mouth opened in a silent scream of erotic joy; her legs extended into the air and her toes curled. It was only when his thrusts became slow and incredibly powerful- signifying his own release- and started shaking his partner's perky little breasts that she felt the waves of ecstasy flow over her.

After allowing himself a moment to recover, he pulled his still erect manhood out of her, prompting a moan from the no-longer-virgin. She laid a hot mess on his bed. Her long brown hair clung to her body, sweat dribbling from her pores and her chest heaving. As he made his way over to his non-indisposed lady friend, she smiled saucily and said she would have to 'clean him up', prompting a sexy grin from him. But just as she had gotten onto her knees and was about to take him into her mouth, the younger girl spoke up.

"Leaving me for her, you fucking pussy? What's the matter? Can't handle these guns?" she asked snappishly. Both of them stopped and slowly looked at the dark-haired teenager, who was smiling tauntingly and cupping her breasts, still sweating from the intensity of her orgasm. She left his apartment almost an hour later, unable to walk in any way that could even begin to be considered 'straight'.

The reason? He having pounded into her as hard as he could while she rode him like a stallion, and the other woman having spanked her until her arms were numb.

He did not see her again for three weeks. He actually hadn't _expected _to see her again. He was fairly sure that she would have been disgusted by 'deflowering herself' with him, and made sure to avoid him. How wrong he was. He had barely registered it was her when she jumped onto him, shut the door with her foot, tore their clothes off and began to rut with him right there. Fifteen minutes of frenzied sex later, he asked her what she was doing back here. She replied that she had been having a particularly stressful day, and she didn't believe he would mind giving her a fast fuck. He didn't, but still wondered aloud why she had picked him. With a blush he had only seen on her when she had yelled what she wanted to do to him, she stuttered out that she thought he was better-looking than some of the other guys she had scoped out. That and she really enjoyed screwing with him. With a squeeze of her small bum, he told her that if she ever got a little hot under the collar, or needed someone, she could come back to him. Now calling herself his 'Fuck buddy', she rewarded him with another round.

* * *

He was brought out of his sexy musings when a bright yellow flash erupted in the middle of his apartment. He was instantly crouched in a fighting stance, muscles tensing, pupils dilating, blood roaring in anticipation of a fight. But the flash died down almost as fast as it had started. A strange, melodic trill accompanied the flash, easing his tension, and something drifted to the floor of his apartment. He abandoned his stance after a few seconds of stagnancy, and cautiously approached the object on the floor. It was a manila envelope that appeared to be quite full. As he slowly picked it up, he stopped when he noticed the wax seal. It was an image of an eight-pronged star. To ensure that it wasn't just a coincidentally familiar seal, he turned the letter over. There, in forest green ink, were eight words that confirmed that this letter was the real deal:

'_In discord, We unite; for peace, We strive.'_

Something big was about to happen. Almost in a haze, he turned and ambled towards his bedroom, opening the top drawer of his bedside dresser. His hand slipped in over his neat pile of shirts, fumbling about until it rested on a lock. With a dull _thuk_, he turned the locking mechanism, and a small hidden compartment opened on the roof of the dresser. He reached inside the dusty hidden compartment and grasped one of the two artifacts hidden within it. It came out with the sound of stone scraping across wood, until the chain was lifted completely from its confines.

With slow fingers, he wiped the dust from the Silex Victus medallion. Its coppery sheen was marred by the symbol of the eight pronged star, identical to the wax seal upon the still unopened envelope. Upon the opposite side were six tiny characters. They were Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Lightning, and Yin-Yang; symbolism of the first wielder of the medallion.

Looking slowly at the medallion and then at the envelope, he slipped it around his neck and pressed the star to the wax seal. A small flash later, and the wax disappeared. He was again startled when he opened the envelope, and some sort of shockwave erupted from it. When nothing happened after he remained still for a moment, he picked the letter- written on thick parchment… how odd- out of the envelope. It was quite long and written in the same colour ink as the eight words on the envelope:

_To the 75__th__ in the Line of the 8__th__,_

_Allow me to first inform you that opening this envelope triggered the activation of a Soundproofing Charm, which will make anyone outside of the room you are standing in, or anyone within a three metre radius of you completely deaf to any noise you make._

_Undoubtedly, you have deduced that I am a member of the World Order as well. My name is Dumbledore Albus, wizard, and I am in dire need of your help._

_Seventeen days ago, a man of incredible and terrible power named Riddle Tom Marvolo (Alias Voldemort) was returned from the dead. He was, and is considered to be the most dangerous wizard to walk the face of the earth. Thirteen years ago, before his disappearance, he wreaked unprecedented havoc upon my country. Were it not for an isolated incident that caused his dissolution, for lack of a better word, he would likely be controlling my entire country, if not multiple._

_I will not explain how he returned, simply because I do not have enough parchment to explain the magics involved to you, and quite frankly, knowledge of the procedure eludes me. I will say this though: The government, despite having proof thrown in their face, steadfastly refuses to acknowledge his return. We have not completely recovered from the carnage brought upon by his first campaign, and to announce his resurrection could very well, in their views, lead to anarchy and destruction._

_As part of their attempt to smother the return of Voldemort, the government will soon attempt to discredit both me, and the only one who stopped, and can stand against Voldemort, Potter Harry. Harry though, I fear that he will have to suffer more than simply slander. There will be extremists who believe that he will have to be silenced in a more permanent fashion, if you understand my meaning. If they do not succeed, the government's attitude will have at least seen Harry isolated, and thus a much easier target for Voldemort. That cannot happen, which is where you come in._

_My request of you is that you come to my domain and act as a guardian/mentor/friend to Harry, in my absence. Should you wish to heed my plea, the coin enclosed is a device that will allow you to be transported directly to me, thus relieving you of the ordeal of travelling through the Nexus. All you need to do in order to activate it is touch it with bare skin. When you arrive, I shall tell you more. Be warned though, you will need to throw anyone who might come looking for you off your trail, as I project your sojourn in my domain will be almost a year in length, possibly more in a worst case scenario._

_For safety and peace,_

_Dumbledore Albus_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards_

_Chief Warlock, Wizengamot Legislative and Judicial System_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_World Warlord, 34__th__ in the Line of the 4__th_

It was finally happening. A call had gone out. He was being asked to stop a world from going to hell… again.

For once, eighteen-year-old ANBU SpecOps operative Uzumaki Naruto, AKA 'The Rookie', 75th World Warlord in the Line of the 8th, wished for a quiet life. It seemed that his wishes would go unheeded. He reminded himself to bitch later. He had things to do.

* * *

"Ino-chan?"

Yamanaka Ino lifted her blonde head to see Naruto entering her shop. Yes, despite being a Jounin instructor, Ino still tended to her family flower shop. It was a passion she would never give up.

"What's up 'Ruto?" she asked, mischief dancing in her cornflower blue eyes at the use of his disliked nickname. True enough, using it brought a twitch to his eye.

"Um, I'm gonna be leaving on a long-term mission tomorrow, so I just came to say goodbye to you." He told her, indicating the belt of scrolls around his waist. She said nothing for a moment. It almost seemed like he was being evasive about something. Knowing she wouldn't be able to pry any info, she simply humoured him.

"What kind of mission?" she asked as casually as she could, looking and feeling concerned for her boy toy, a term she would never use to describe him aloud.

"Sorry Ino-chan, I really can't tell you that. Baa-chan says this one's off the books; real hush-hush." He answered, holding one of his fingers to his lips. Ino smiled just a little bit.

"Is this like the time you 'accidentally' blew up that government building in Ame?" she teased, covering her giggle when his face went red.

"I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT!" he yelled indignantly. This only served to make Ino laugh harder. Naruto pouted like a petulant child and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Aww, I made Naru-chan cry. Suck it up, princess." Ino snapped humourously. Naruto harrumphed, but acquiesced nonetheless.

"How long will you be gone for?" Ino asked, hopping over the counter.

"Depends on how well it goes. Best possible outcome, I'll be gone a year. Worst, a couple." He answered. He let a small sigh escape his lips as his cobalt eyes met her cornflower ones.

"I'm really gonna miss you Ino." He said softly, placing his right hand on her waist and drawing her closer. She smiled softly and allowed herself to be drawn into a hug.

"I'll miss you too," she whispered in reply. "You and your giant penis," she added jokingly. Naruto went stiff and pulled back to look at her. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking that she had offended him, but she let out a breath when he grinned mischievously.

"Want to say goodbye to that too?" he grinned even wider, reaching around and squeezing her ass. Ino squeaked and her eyes widened as she whipped her head around the shop.

"What? Now?" she exclaimed, nervousness evident in her voice. Naruto chuckled.

"You never really were an exhibitionist. But hey, first time for everything. Now, sit on the counter." He ordered, pointing at it. Moving away from him and removing her apron, Ino complied. With a sexy smirk, Naruto sauntered up to her. He placed his hands gently on her long, pale legs, caressing them softly as he leaned in to kiss her. For several moments, the two friends with benefits performed a complicated dance with their tongues. Naruto was the first to break the kiss when he crouched and hiked up the top of Ino's skirt.

He almost laughed when he saw she was wearing sky blue panties with little piglets on them. _'Very fitting, not that I'm about to tell her that.'_ He thought as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband around her hips and slowly pulled the thin, silky fabric down over her legs and feet, then tossing them over his shoulder. He had begun lapping at her sex before she could complain, and she let out a soft moan instead. For several minutes, he waggled his tongue in and out of her rapidly moistening folds, sucked on her clit, and occasionally thrust his fingers into her. He felt the telltale signs of her coming climax in the form of short, rapid breaths and an increase in squirming. Waggling his eyebrows once, Naruto pressed his face into the junction between Ino's spread legs, thrusting his tongue as far into her vagina as he could. Ino threw her head back and opened her mouth in a silent scream as her legs clenched around his head, driving his face further into her soft flesh. He contentedly lapped up her bodily fluids as she began to come down from her high. It was a moment before she would release his head, but when she did, he bolted straight up and quickly undid the buckle of his pants. He quickly pulled down his zipper and shifted his black boxers, allowing 'Big Poppa Fox' to spring out and say hello to Ino.

"He's eager as ever, I see." Ino snarked, spitting in her hand and reaching down to give Big Poppa Fox a petting. Naruto's eyes fluttered for a moment, but stopped when Ino let go and leaned back, spreading her legs and offering her moist womanhood to him… again. Sex with Ino never got old, no matter how many times they went to bed together.

'_Good times in Ino's Palace of Love,' _Naruto almost laughed at his terrible pun as he grasped her waist and, with one mighty thrust, buried himself inside Ino. This time, Ino could not restrain herself and gave a swift cry, which soon became a chorus of oscillating moans as Naruto's long strokes rocked her body. Soon Naruto was panting in pleasure and thrusting as fast as he could without allowing the head of his penis to exit Ino's womanhood. Ino had the strangest look on her face, almost a mixture of being in pleasure and being in pain. The fact that she was coming close to climax again only made the face stranger. Knowing another orgasm was on the way, Naruto slowed his strokes.

"No… d-don't stop… please…" Ino mumbled almost incoherently. Naruto paid her no heed, slowing his pace further to prolong their coming orgasms as long as possible. He was able to hold on for five minutes before he couldn't take it anymore, and began to thrust hard enough to almost bowl Ino off the counter. She cried "I'm coming!" and wrapped her legs around him as her vaginal walls clenched rhythmically around Big Poppa Fox, bringing Naruto to release as well.

The remained joined for all of thirty seconds, panting and sweating before Naruto pulled out of her, made himself presentable and retrieved Ino's discarded underwear.

"See you around, Ino-chan." He said with one last peck on her lips before he left her shop. Ino sat on the counter for a moment, still recovering before she realized that her skirt was up around her hips, she was holding her underwear in her right hand, and Naruto's semen was starting to trickle down her thigh.

"Crap!" she exclaimed before she slid off the counter and hurried towards the back room to clean herself up. Even though she was embarrassed beyond belief, she could not find it in her heart to be mad at her fellow blonde.

* * *

"Hey 'Nabi-ch- Mmph!" Naruto didn't even get to finish his sentence before recently-turned-fourteen-year-old Hyuuga Hanabi threw herself at him. Her lips crashed into his and her hand shot down the front of his pants to grasp and stroke Big Poppa Fox. Despite having banged Ino not an hour earlier, Naruto was still raring to go when Hanabi's strokes- less smooth or gentle than Ino's- woke BPF up. Smiling into their frantic kiss, Hanabi dexterously worked the buckle and zipper on his pants before shoving both them and his underwear down. Just as she broke the kiss to go down on her fuck buddy, he grabbed her shoulders forcefully and pulled her off of him. She looked up and her heart skipped a beat at the stern look on his face. That look made her feel nervous and aroused; she loved it when he took charge.

"Hanabi-chan, you naughty little girl. Jumping me before I can even say hello! I might just have to punish you for that." He scolded her. Thoughts of how he would 'punish' her entered Hanabi's mind, and made her shiver with anticipation.

"Bend over," he ordered sternly. Hanabi suppressed another shiver, but smirked as she turned around and complied, sticking her butt out as far as she could. Naruto gently began to knead the flesh of her cheeks, prompting several appreciative moans and sighs from the recipient. It was a few minutes later, when Hanabi was beginning to feel pleasure in every stroke laid upon her rear, that she felt her training shorts slip over her hips and a strong arm wrap around her waist. She tried to look back at Naruto, but he was turning her around and setting her down on her back. The earth here was soft, so it was not too much of a problem. Naruto raised her legs into the air and pulled her shorts down just a little more, giving him perfect access to her womanhood. Grasping BPF and holding her ankles, he slowly slid his penis into her vagina. Despite having had sex with the younger girl several times, Naruto marveled at how tight she remained. Regardless, he began to thrust into her. Unlike Ino, Hanabi's 'sex face' made her look as though she were thinking about something that frustrated her. There was an occasional exhalation, and sometimes she would open her mouth and breathe heavily. Of course, this was an indicator that she was about to start talking dirty.

True enough, about two minutes of pounding into her later, just as he was pushing her shirt and bra up over her breasts, Hanabi started with the dirty talk.

"Oh, fuck yeah, that feels so fucking good. Keep fucking my tight little pussy with your huge cock!" was merely the first exclamation. Until their collective orgasm a few minutes later, she only talked dirtier and louder.

"Mmm, fuck, that was good." Hanabi murmured from her spot at Naruto's side. The blonde smiled and gently squeezed her right breast.

"What did you want to tell me?" she asked after another moment of enjoying the afterglow. Naruto cocked an eyebrow.

"How do you know I was coming here to ask you something?" he asked her. She looked up at him with her pale lavender eyes.

"Because _I'm_ always the one who comes to_ you_ for sex, dumbass." She said playfully. Naruto chuckled softly.

"True, very true," he conceded. "I came here to tell you I'm heading off on a long-term mission. And by long, I'm talking anywhere from one year to multiple." He explained. Hanabi had gone very still, and was looking at him intently.

"And no, I can't take you with me. One, this mission is off the books. If you ask Baa-chan about it, she'll pretend to not know anything. Two, as much as I'd love to take you, you'd need a better reason to come with me besides offering constant sex and a unique fighting style." Naruto elaborated. Hanabi looked away and her shoulders sagged.

"… Okay," she finally bit out, but with almost no bite. "But don't be surprised if I've moved on when you come back." She warned him. He smiled and kissed her chastely.

"I'm actually kind of surprised you haven't already." He replied truthfully as he rose and pulled up his pants. He offered Hanabi a hand up and rearranged her clothing so that she was decent. As he was walking away, he stopped mid-step.

"Y'know, after all this time, I never thought to ask: Between you and Hinata, who won that bet?" he queried with a cocked eyebrow. Hanabi remained silent for a moment before she grinned in a way that said she knew something he didn't.

"What bet?" she asked innocently before about-facing and walking away, her nearly waist-length hair dancing with the sway of her hips. Naruto was about to remind her of the explanation that came before their first rut when what his former fuck buddy had just said clicked in his mind.

"… Damn!" he exclaimed, followed by a laugh as he weaved his hands into a seal, which caused him to blink out of existence, leaving nothing but a yellow blip of light behind.

He had teleported back to his apartment to grab a few last minute supplies. A bandolier of three-pronged kunai essential for the use of his inheritance, the Hiraishin no jutsu, as well as the one inside his apartment; the envelope with the note and device from Dumbledore, as well as his Silex Victus medallion; a worn, black, floor-length trench coat that was a gift from Mitarashi Anko, an on-and-off drinking buddy from the ANBU Interrogation Unit., and his ANBU armour, in case he got into a fight. How effective it would be against magic was yet to be seen. As an additional deterrent after he shut off his utilities and threw out his food, Naruto wrote a short note and placed it on his dining table. It was very short and very simple:

_Gone on a special mission. Don't try to find me, because you won't. See you in a year or more._

"Alright, all done." Naruto concluded, looking around his dark apartment. Holding up the envelope, he marveled at the intricately carved gold coin that had come enclosed.

"I _really_ hope this works…" Naruto gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and grasped the coin. A tugging sensation around his navel answered his action, and in the blink of an eye, the eighteen-year-old SpecOps ANBU and World Warlord was gone.

* * *

"HOLY MOTHER-_FUCKER_!" Naruto screamed as the world once again coalesced in the form of a stone floor, which he appeared five feet above. _Thwack_! He hit the floor hard, and a string of curses followed. As he looked up, he found himself in a strange office. Shelves lined the walls, and were filled with books and strange devices. There were several tables around him, all covered with odd contraptions or rolls of parchment. Above the shelves were countless portraits of aged men and women, and… holy shit, they were _moving_! Many of them were 'sleeping' (Naruto knew otherwise; nobody snored that loudly!) or watching him and murmuring to their neighbours.

A voice came from behind him, speaking a language he did not understand. Naruto leaped up and turned to set his cobalt eyes upon the voice's user. It was an old man with a long white beard and a mane of hair, dressed in fine-looking crimson robes. He was sitting in a throne-like chair. Upon the chair was one of the most beautiful birds Naruto had ever seen.

"Dumbledore Albus?" he asked, fairly certain he was right, but acknowledging the fact that he could be wrong. The man nodded and reached under his robes. Naruto tensed, anticipating an attack that probably would not come, but relaxed when the old man pulled a grey chain from around his neck. Attached to the end of the chain was the coppery Silex Victus medallion. Slowly, and because the Code demanded it, Naruto pulled his own medallion from his pocket for Dumbledore to see. The old wizard smiled slightly, and reached into his robes to pull out a thin shaft of wood. Reasonably reassured that his fellow Warlord meant him no harm, Naruto did nothing.

Dumbledore said two words ("_Communis commercium,_") and a white bubble appeared at the end of his stick. It detached and floated towards Naruto, who tensed, preparing for the unknown. To his shock, it seemed to phase through his frontal lobe, and suddenly he was nursing a major headache. As he palmed his head, he discovered that knowledge of an entirely new language- the English language- had been imprinted into his brain.

"That's new," Naruto commented in English, complete with an accent.

"Magic can be a beautiful and mysterious thing, Warlord…" Dumbledore trailed off, silently asking for his name.

"Uzumaki. Naruto Uzumaki. And please, call me Naruto." Naruto informed the old man. _'It feels weird, using my given name first.'_

"Very well, Naruto. If you wish to be referred to as such, then by all means, call me Albus." Albus said as he picked up a yellow object and popped it into his mouth. "I must say, when I learned that another had inherited the responsibility of one of the Eight, I did not expect someone so young." He quipped. Naruto did not believe this to be an insult, nor did he believe it was a compliment.

"We of my realm are trained in the art of war from a very young age. Doing so makes us more effective." He answered. "Now, I believe you requested my aid in protecting one Harry Potter?" he asked. Albus nodded.

"Indeed. Please, be seated. We have much to discuss." Albus waved his stick, and a chair spontaneously appeared from thin air.

"Cool," Naruto whispered, cautiously sitting down in it.

"So, in your letter, you told me that you wanted me to act as, quote 'a guardian/ mentor/ friend to Harry' unquote. How exactly will that work? I can change my appearance at will, but I still don't think I'll be able to fit in with Harry without some sort of psych profile." Naruto stated. Albus blinked.

"I concur. It has not escaped my notice that young Harry does not make friends easily, having since forged a friendship with two fellow classmates. Part of this is due to his upbringing, which was not the greatest, and partly because- and this is merely an assumption- Harry likely feels that he is complete with two close friends, and has a hard time allowing other people to grow close to him." The old man answered pensively.

"So, I'm stuck." Naruto deadpanned. This was not going as he had planned. An odd twinkle in Albus' eyes told him the old man had foreseen this.

"I believe the Muggle- non-magical term- is 'way ahead of you'. You will note that I also requested that if you accepted, you would act not only as a friend, but as a guardian and a mentor." Albus added, a small smile growing on his face. Naruto cocked an eyebrow.

"What are you saying, Albus?" he asked curiously, growing tired of the old man weaving around answering him. He did not have to wait any longer.

"It is with great pleasure that I, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, do hereby welcome you to the faculty, Professor Uzumaki."

* * *

**And the plot thickens! Please:**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this chapter**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this chapter**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this chapter**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**And, as I've said before, please see my profile for details about my Sky City Challenge!**

**Dirty Reid**


	3. First Contact

**The World Order**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 3: First Contact**

* * *

"_Excuse_ me?" Naruto spluttered, caught completely off guard. That was rare nowadays. "_Professor_? You expect me to teach magic to a bunch of hormonally-unbalanced preteens and teenagers when I _can't_ do magic? Are you fucking mad?" He exclaimed. Albus didn't seem fazed by his colourful outburst.

"Perhaps if you gave me a moment to explain Naruto, this would not seem so confusing." He said in a grandfatherly voice. The blonde was forcibly reminded of his unofficial Jiji, Sarutobi Hiruzen. The desire for an explanation, followed by the twist of a painful memory stayed Naruto's words.

"First of all, I hold no illusions that you would be able to teach a class where magic was the core study." Albus prefaced his explanation. Naruto could almost hear his ego shrinking. "That is not to say however, that you are completely unsuited to teach here." He concluded, steepling his fingers and peering at his fellow warlord over his half-moon glasses.

"Really? How so?" Naruto asked, still not convinced.

"I admit that I am not the first to notice it, but once you remove a wand from a wizard's grasp, he is all but useless on the battlefield. Somewhere hundreds of years ago, magical people began to see forms of Muggle- non-magicals," Albus added, seeing Naruto's cocked eyebrow. "Began to see Muggle combat as barbaric, and began to shy away from learning and teaching it. As a result, we became more specialized towards magic in combat.

"The previous Fourth, Lysandra Silvere, passed this knowledge- given by one of your predecessors- on to me: 'Specialization leads to stagnancy; stagnancy leads to weakness; weakness leads to death.' It is my hope that, should you accept my proposal, you will teach next year's students, at the very least, rudimentary hand-to-hand combat." Albus explained. Naruto knew that saying very well.

While he had never led a Genin squad, Naruto had acted as a mentor to a handful of younger shinobi, most notably Konohamaru and his two fellows, Moegi and Udon. There was an occasional Genin or Academy student here and there who worked up the guts to ask him to teach them something, but he had never formally acted as an instructor.

"… If I were to accept, what would the general reaction be?" Naruto asked slowly.

"Varied, to say the least. I am sure that students with Muggle heritage will not mind this addition to the regime, if they do not openly approve of it. The half-bloods and purebloods though, I am certain will not approve. They-"

"Sorry to interrupt Albus, but 'Half-bloods and purebloods'? You witches and wizards discriminate based on heritage too?" Naruto interrupted. Albus' head tilted to the side.

"Silvere said something about one of your predecessors- Tsuruzu, I believe his name was- mentioning animosity between two families and the remainder of the population in your country. Am I correct in assuming that they discriminate because of lineage?" The old man asked. Naruto nodded.

"Sounds a lot like the Uchiha and the Hyuuga. They think they're better than everyone else because of some freaky shit they do with their eyes and 'keeping their blood pure'. The governing body doesn't help much, treating them like they're Kami's gift to our people because they can do something most of the other shinobi can't. Couple of them changed their attitudes after I kicked their asses, or in the case of the Uchiha, drove them to extinction." Naruto chuckled, but quickly replaced it with a forlorn look.

"Extinction?" Dumbledore echoed.

"The would-be first scion wiped out all but three members of the clan before he was killed by his younger brother. That younger brother- before he killed his older brother- used to be a colleague of mine before he went rogue. For almost five years, I tried to get him to see reason and return to Konoha. I changed my mind after he told me he never valued me as a friend and stabbed me in the chest with a sword. It was then that I opened my eyes and re-evaluated my views: Believing in forgiveness and redemption was not good for my health. It had gotten me closer to death more times than I care to count, quite a few times at the hand of my 'friend'." Naruto's voice took on a darker and deeper tone as he used air quotes around the word 'Friend'.

"It was then, with that sword still in my chest, that I stopped thinking I could redeem him and realized the truth: Good and evil are black and white, and redemption is nothing more than a twisted fantasy concocted by idealists that have never been betrayed by someone they cared for." Naruto paused and his shoulders shook. So caught up in noting that the Eighth Warlord's views on the treatment of good and evil were polar opposites of his own, Albus did not immediately feel the subtle onset of a blanket of chakra, laced with anger and pain. When he did, he felt the wispy hairs below his long mane stand on end.

Silvere had told him that when she, the other Warlords and a small contingent of each of their armies had been summoned by the Seventh some two hundred years back to quietly end a long-raging war that the followers of the Eighth were some of the most frightening warriors she had ever been in the presence of. Their natural energies- chakra- were somewhat conducive to their intent. When they learned to control that conductivity, they would often channel their bottled hatred into broadcasting chakra, which was absorbed by even the most unremarkable individuals, in order to unbalance their enemies and turn the tide of battle.

Silvere's words had not done the feeling justice. The aura Naruto was emitting did not just let Albus know the blonde was angry, nor did it simply throw him off balance. The aura gave him the impression that Naruto was _incredibly_ dangerous. Possibly more so than several of the hardened murderers known as Death Eaters.

Looking up and seeing the uneasy look on Albus' face, Naruto quelled his intent. "And with that revelation, I tore that blade out of my chest and ran it through him. As he looked at me- surprised or just in pain, I don't know which- I whispered into his ear 'Treason for power, and you _still_ lost to me,' and left him to die. And here I am ranting on about my views of the world when I asked you to answer a question. Half-bloods and purebloods?" he asked again. Albus, not missing a beat, nodded.

"A pureblooded wizard or witch is someone who's maternal and paternal lines contain no Muggles or half-bloods for at least five generations. These people do not usually produce more than one child, so inbreeding to varying degrees is not uncommon." He began.

"Ew," Naruto balked quietly, pulling a disgusted face.

"A half-blood is a wizard or witch who has, within five generations, had a Muggle, a Muggleborn magical, or another half-blood as an ancestor." Albus continued.

"Purebloods generally loathe non-purebloods, such as Muggles and Muggleborns, seeing them as inferior beings and in the case of Muggleborns, unworthy to study magic. As such, they will believe learning hand-to-hand combat is a waste of their time. Their reaction will be to disrespect you or attempt to get under your skin, and prompt me to terminate you, should they succeed." Albus ended his explanation by leaning back in his chair. Naruto's carefully crafted expression of neutrality fell just a smidge.

"Well, I feel I should warn you Albus, that I have no patience for inferiority complexes; people with them who antagonize me tend to end up dead or severely beaten." He said with a dark edge to his proclamation.

"Clearly. As a professor though, you will have the power to punish students in the form of detentions and House Point deductions." Albus here went into an explanation of the Sorting of students into four houses based upon their personalities, what constituted a detention, and the 'Point Race for the House Cup', as well as a few anecdotes about the students' regards towards the other houses. By the end of the short lecture, Naruto had quirked his eyebrows.

"… So, you give students points for being brown-nosers, and take points away for them doing something you don't like, effectively brainwashing them. The end result is that the brown-nosers win a worthless competition and the Head of House gets to display a trophy, along with the ability to say 'Fuck you, my House has more ass-kissers than yours'." He summarized. Albus simply stared at the blonde ninja for a moment before covering his mouth and guffawing quietly.

"That is probably the rudest, yet funniest way I have heard that system described accurately." Albus said after he calmed down just a little.

"Glad I could brighten up your evening. But Albus, I hope you realize that because I'm going to be teaching your students how to fight, I'm going to have to beat the crap out of them at some point." Naruto warned the old man again. Albus' eyes dimmed somewhat.

"Surely you can find a different way of teaching your students to fight without manhandling them, can you not?" he asked. Naruto shrugged.

"Maybe, but a hands-on approach goes a lot longer way than just reading out of a textbook or watching someone else. An example is none other than yours truly. Theory of battle goes right over my head. I always have, and always will do better when I'm left to figure it out on my own, or faced with a situation where I have to learn on the fly. Good motivation or something like that." Naruto said absently. Sensing that the teen wasn't done, Albus stayed silent.

"And besides, it won't _always_ be me beating on them, and even then I'd tone it down. Some of the time, with the lessons I'm thinking of, _they'll _be beating on _each other_." He said with a nasty little grin. Albus cocked an eyebrow.

"You would pit students against each other in physical combat?" he asked.

"I don't see how that's any different than the Race for the House Cup. This just happens to have a few more cuts and bruises involved." Naruto said simply.

"Hmm… I guess I can't argue with that. However, I believe the animosity between houses will be something of an issue, should you give them the tools to learn hand-to-hand combat."

"And you didn't think of that before you asked me to start teaching them how to fight without magic?"

"… Point," Albus conceded.

"Anyways, I'll be sure that they know that I won't tolerate petty dislike based on the colour of your robes." Naruto added, earning a small nod from Albus.

"Now, I believe that you said you wanted me to act as a guardian to Harry Potter. Can you tell me just _what_ I'll be protecting him from?" Naruto asked.

What followed was an extended version of Dumbledore's letter, a brief explanation of Cornelius Fudge (_'What a stupid name,'_ Naruto thought privately), his reaction to the evidence of Voldemort's return, and what would probably be happening to both the school and Harry.

"So, you want me to teach the students to fight, but give the outward expression of being a physical conditioning class, so as not to cause Fudge's plant to believe you're training some sort of private army in order to overthrow him. At the same time, you want me to reach out to Harry as someone he can confide in or look to for protection." Naruto summarized.

"Yes," Albus affirmed simply. Naruto stared at him silently for a moment.

"…Albus… you're fucking _nuts_. And you know what? I like your thinking." Naruto grinned in that shit-eating way only he could pull off. So thrown off by the blonde's comment was Albus, that it took him a second to get a small snicker out.

"I can see unpredictability is a virtue you are not short of, Naruto." Albus remarked.

"You got that right. Now, I'm gonna need a few things if I'm going to go incognito as a teacher here: One, full access to the libraries here at Hogwarts; two, access to the Muggle world so I can learn a little bit about the culture; three, information about who I need to look out for in Voldemort's little cult and the Ministry; and four, I'm gonna need someone to help me refine my lesson plans."

"Done. Where would you like to start?"

* * *

"I wonder what's going to be different this year." Hermione Granger wondered aloud, fingering her small red Prefect's Badge as she rode in the four person carriage with her best friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her fellow Gryffindor Prefect. Beside Harry sat Luna Lovegood, a fourth-year Ravenclaw with a permanently vacant expression, pale blonde hair, and an upside down magazine in her hands. Privately, Hermione wondered if Luna was high.

"Who knows? New DADA teacher, that's for certain." Ron stated in response, earning a small nod from Hermione.

"I wonder what the loose clothes are going to be for." Harry added. He was referring to an odd addition to the school list they had gotten some weeks previously:

_Inexpensive or old clothing that will not restrict your movement_

"It will be for some sort of class that requires movement, won't it?" Luna asked, having received an identical item on her list. Fred, George and Ginny Weasley, as well as Neville Longbottom, sported the same requirement.

"I suppose we'll just have to wait." Hermione conceded. She had theories, but kept them to herself. The four remained quiet through the ride to the drop-off point, exchanging a few words with fellow students who seemed to be distancing themselves from Harry. That distancing continued throughout the trudge through Hogwarts' entrance and up into the Great Hall.

Once they were seated, Harry Ron and Hermione looked up to the staff table. They noted immediately that Hagrid was missing, and in his place was Grubbly-Plank, the professor who had held his spot once before. At the centre sat Professor Dumbledore, regal, jovial and aged; to his right was Filius Flitwick, tiny, bearded and energetic. The three continued to list the professors until they laid eyes upon a new face. But in one case…

"I recognize her," Harry murmured, garnering the attention of his two friends. "She was at my trial during the summer." He added in reference to the full court disciplinary hearing he had been subjected to not a month previously. The woman in question was dressed in a hideous pink cardigan, pink dress, pink heels, pink _everything_. The only thing not pink about her was her curly, mousy brown hair, the black bow on her head, and her pale skin which only made her look more toad-ish. She was smiling widely at the students, but it made her look as though she were deciding what kind of wine to serve with them as she ate them for supper. She kept shooting glances along the staff table, and the 'Golden Trio' followed her eyes as they set upon…

"Who's that?" Ron wondered aloud, referring to the newest face at the table. Several other students from each house shared his sentiment, discussing the subject in whispers.

The subject of discussion was a young man. He looked young enough to be a student at Hogwarts. His sunny blonde hair stuck up at all angles and fell about his face with a strangely natural grace. The bright yellow hair was complemented by gorgeous cobalt eyes, which roved around the hall with something like calm disinterest in them. He had a well-chiseled face and sported a tanned complexion that was rare in the British Isles. Marring both of his cheeks were three thin lines, as though someone had taken a pencil and drawn faux whiskers on him. Judging by the giggly tones of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, the girls of Hogwarts found that feature of the young man quite cute. His only other remarkable feature was that instead of a robe or some other archaic garment traditionally worn by wizards, a worn black trench coat with a popped collar was draped over his shoulders.

"Don't know," _'But he's cute,' _Hermione answered/thought, hiding a small pink bloom on her cheeks well.

"Wonder what he's going to teach?" Harry muttered more to himself, still watching the young man. Those blue eyes turned towards the Gryffindor table, and quickly locked with his. Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he could have sworn the blue-eyed young man grinned and winked at him. He didn't have time to dwell on the matter, due to the Great Hall doors groaning open, allowing Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, and a cloud of some twenty to thirty nervous first years into the hall. As per tradition, the Sorting Hat belted out a song. This time though, it was laced with warnings of dark times coming, and preached the importance of unity. While the Hat sang, Harry noticed that the young man at the staff table was enraptured by the singing hat.

'_Interesting,'_ Harry thought. He zoned out during the Sorting, clapping only when someone was sorted into his House. The young man clapped at every decision, but only out of respect, it seemed.

Dinner was a subdued affair. Aside from Hermione, Ron and Neville, everyone else in his house appeared to be avoiding him, preferring to point and whisper. _'Perfect,' _Harry grumbled silently. Almost an agonizing hour later, Dumbledore rose to the podium and reverent silence fell over the hall.

"To our youngest students, welcome to Hogwarts. To our older students, welcome back. Before bed, I ask a few minutes to inform you of several things.

"To our first years, the Forbidden Forest is, as its name implies, forbidden. So please, stay out of it. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch reminds you that a long list of items is prohibited in the castle at all times. Should you desire to know what they are, do not hesitate to ask him. As an addition, please note that magic in the corridors is forbidden." Dumbledore paused for a second to catch his breath and allow the message to sink in.

"And now, allow me to draw your attention to our staff table. Filling in for Professor Hagrid, who has taken a short hiatus, is Professor Grubbly-Plank. She shall be teaching Care of Magical Creatures until Professor Hagrid returns." The severe-looking woman stood and received a smattering of applause from the students and teachers.

"D'you think Hagrid's doing something for the Order?" Harry asked.

"Most likely," Hermione whispered absently. Ron just shrugged.

"Secondly, I would like to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge." The pink woman from Harry's trial stood to a quieter round of applause and approached the podium. She appeared to be exchanging words with Dumbledore, who returned to his seat with an expressionless face. Umbridge began a speech in a high falsetto that felt like nails on a chalkboard. She sounded as though she were repeating herself, so Harry zoned out until she seemed to be winding down.

"I-I don't believe Dumbledore's allowing this!" Hermione spluttered indignantly. Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked, just as confused.

"Were you two _not paying attention_?" she hissed angrily, causing both of the boys to cringe.

"N-no, not really." Harry admitted. Hermione threw her arms up and sighed loudly.

"The long and short of it is that the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts." She summarized just as Umbridge stopped talking. The hall was completely silent. Until…

"Boooooo, you suck!" a voice crowed. All eyes in the hall turned to the source, which was the young man, who was grinning like a madman, at the far end of the staff table. It was a few seconds later that people started to laugh. Her face turning puce, Umbridge turned back to her seat and sat down, saying nothing. With a disapproving glare at the young man, Dumbledore retook his place.

"And with that… _interesting_ welcome, I bring your attention to the newest member of our faculty." Harry noted with interest that even the teachers were fixing their eyes on the young man.

"Our newest professor will be teaching a brand new course, mandatory for every student in this school." Dumbledore explained, drawing out the suspense. There was a groan from the student body.

"You've got to be kidding me! _More_ work? And during fifth year? We're going to be bogged down as it is!" Ron complained, earning several sympathetic noises from his fellow Gryffindors.

"It is on that note that I present to you Professor Steven Stifler, teacher of Physical Conditioning. In addition, he will also be acting as a counselor, so do not hesitate to go to him if you are troubled by something in your life." Dumbledore concluded. Stifler rose from his sitting position and, with that manic grin replaced by a charming smile, gave a flourishing bow to the students, receiving a round of applause louder than any of the teachers before him.

"'Physical Conditioning'? What's that supposed to be?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.

"Sounds like its some sort of workout class." Hermione guessed. Many of the Muggleborns in the hall shared her reasoning. The pureblood contingent, mostly at the Slytherin table, seemed disdainful of the class Stifler was to instruct. Everyone else was somewhere in between.

"And on that note, I believe it is time for you all to go to bed. Prefects, please tend to your first years." Dumbledore ordered, and the organized chaos that followed the first dinner ensued.

"One thing's for certain," Harry murmured as he watched Ron and Hermione trying to corral in the first years and lead them on their way to Gryffindor Tower, "it's going to be a very interesting year. How I wish for a dull one." He sighed as he watched Stifler trail Dumbledore out of the Hall, Umbridge not far behind.

* * *

**And there we have Chapter 3! OMG, Naruto posing as a Stifler? Will there be a single mind left unscarred by the end of the year? Give me your thoughts after you:**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment  
****-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment  
****-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment  
****-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**This will probably be my last update for the year of 2010, so I'll say this now: MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	4. The Stifmeister

**The World Order**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**Chapter 4: The Stifmeister**

* * *

Predictably, Umbridge had followed Dumbledore and Stifler to the Headmaster's office, and was demanding an explanation.

"Professor Dumbledore, why was I not informed that you would be adding another course to the curriculum this year?" she asked in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers. The smile she had painted on though, did not reach her eyes, which conveyed a great deal of consternation. Consternation that was directed at Professor Stifler, who was sitting lazily in a conjured chintz armchair, gazing at nothing and looking unnaturally bored.

"I did not believe it was a detail that warranted the attention of anyone but me, Madam Umbridge." Dumbledore answered calmly. The Ministry spy was going to try and weasel information out of him. She thought that her position as Senior Undersecretary gave her rights to know all happenings inside Hogwarts. But as he had said to himself before, Warlord Dumbledore played dirty. If she wanted to be nosy, he would not play her game.

"A detail that wouldn't warrant attention, you say. Adding an entirely new course is no small thing, Headmaster." Umbridge replied, the look in her eyes growing more dangerous. Albus was not intimidated.

"I grow tired of skirting the issue Dolores. You may be here on the authority of the Ministry, but this is _my_ school. I do not have to disclose knowledge to anyone, should I not desire to, regardless of their station." He said firmly, the twinkle in his eyes dimming. Umbridge's plastic smile vanished and her jaws clenched together. Sensing that Dumbledore would not play her game, she turned her attention to Stifler.

"Steven, the Headmaster said that you would be teaching Physical Conditioning. What exactly does that entail?" she asked, still in that syrupy sweet voice. Stifler blinked and turned his blonde head to gaze at her. His eyes were cold and lifeless.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't listening. Did you say something?" he asked politely. Umbridge began to shake with anger at being so casually blown off.

"I asked you what you would be teaching, _Professor_." She bit out in a tone suggesting she were speaking to a small child. Stifler's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Y'know, talking to people like they're retarded is a bad way to build positive relationships. Didja ever think about that?" Stifler asked. His cold scowl was replaced with a mischievous grin that just plain hollered 'I'm playing with you'.

"Stop evading the question and answer me!" Umbridge snapped, her hand going for her cardigan, undoubtedly where she kept her wand.

"I wouldn't pull out your little stick if I were you," Stifler whispered. Though his voice was barely audible, Umbridge was shrewd enough to hear the bucketful of venom behind it and paused. "By the time you pulled it out to threaten me, I could have crossed the distance between us and broken your arm in two places." Stifler continued, still in a whisper. Umbridge's ugly face betrayed an expression of disbelief.

"Nobody can move that fast." She protested. Stifler simply adopted a sardonic smirk, mixed with a healthy amount of derision.

"Well I guess you have to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky?" Stifler asked as an edge of steel slid over the poison in his voice. Dumbledore had to restrain a smile as his fellow Warlord used one of his favourite movie quotes. Umbridge held their eye contact for just a few seconds before she had to look away.

"Dolores, don't worry about what I'm going to be doing to the students. I expect you're going to have enough trouble trying to teach with that attitude of yours. And I use the word 'teach' very loosely." He couldn't resist putting one last jab in there. Looking furious at Dumbledore and Stifler's lack of cooperation and visibly trembling, Umbridge rose from her chair and waddled towards the exit. "I will be watching you," she proclaimed quietly, staring intently at Stifler. The blonde rolled his eyes as Umbridge exited the office and slammed the door.

"Ugh," Naruto shivered. "The thought of her watching me almost makes me want to go celibate until I can deal with her." He grumbled. Dumbledore's mind interpreted this statement several ways, but he chose to refrain from saying anything. It's not like his fellow Warlord was a raging pervert who would go after girls younger than he was… right?

"Just… try and make sure what you teach the students doesn't look _too_ much like teaching them to fight effectively in lieu of magic, alright?" he suggested. Naruto narrowed his eyes and took on a thoughtful expression for a few seconds.

"… Alright," he said finally, "I'll see what I can do. Anything else?" he added with a cocked eyebrow. Albus nodded.

"I would like for you to- _with subtlety_- make it known to Harry that you can and will give him advice or help if he needs it, and act as more of a friend than a professor." He reinforced. Naruto nodded.

"Okay then. I'll make my move after a week. G'night Albus." The blonde rose from his chair cracked several bones very loudly as he stretched and turned to stroll out of the office, his black trench coat flaring slightly behind him.

'_How is it that everybody _except_ me can do that? Naruto can't even do magic and he can do it!' _Dumbledore seethed. It was true; no matter what enchantment he tried or charm he used, he could _never _make his robes or coats billow out as Naruto's had just done. It was his dirty little secret.

'_Maybe it's because you dress like Elton John after he just snorted a pound of coke and got it into his head that he was a wizard.' _His traitorous mind chuckled snidely.

'_Shut up!'_

* * *

Harry's first week back had been absolutely terrible. The first night in his dorm revealed that Seamus Finnegan, someone he was on fairly good terms with, believed the _Daily Prophet's_ bullshit about him being a deranged lunatic looking for attention. When he woke up the next day and went down to breakfast, people whispered unflattering things about him in the halls. Their constant hiss of conversations continued as he ate his breakfast and tried to ignore it.

It got worse. His first class of the day was double Potions. Great; locked in a dungeon for two hours with Severus Goddamned Snape and the Slytherins. True enough, the potion they had to brew was incredibly finicky, and Snape made it no easier by hovering around like a grease-coated ghost, whispering snide comments to anyone not in his own house. On the plus side, he didn't manage to lose Gryffindor any points. That one little positive point counted for nothing though, when Snape assigned all of the students a one-foot essay on the properties of Moonstone, and how it could be used in potion making.

Their next class was Transfiguration. McGonagall spared them no mercy after her speech about their upcoming OWL exams, asking them to vanish a goblet. Being so distracted made the task near impossible. By the end of their one hour class, all Harry had managed to do was make his goblet ever so slightly transparent. As per usual, Hermione had outshone everyone, vanishing her goblet to a point where it was near invisible. To cap it off, they were given an assignment on vanishing, explaining where they had gone wrong and what they could do to improve their results.

Their last morning class was Herbology. Professor Sprout started off the class with the standard OWL importance speech before instructing them on how to drain the poison from Venomous Tentacula. No one went the lesson without getting scratched, but the worst case of poisoning only left Ernie MacMillan slightly nauseous. Once the hour was up, Sprout assigned them a report on the medical uses of Tentacula venom.

Harry, Ron and Hermione agreed to eat lunch quickly so as to leave some time to start on their homework. They all stopped when Fred and George Weasley crashed onto the bench right beside them.

"Total rubbish, it is." Said Fred with conviction.

"Too right, brother of mine." George added.

"What's rubbish?" Hermione asked.

"Defense class," Fred answered.

"Our esteemed 'Professor'-"

"-And we are feeling gracious by calling her that-"

"-Will not be teaching us any sort of magic."

"We're expected to know when to use defensive magic-"

"-But we won't be allowed to use it."

"**That's why the class is rubbish." **They finished in unison.

"I third that," Added Colin Creevey, who had just sat down not too far away. He was joined by Ginny Weasley, who had been in the same class as him.

"… Barely a day in and already the year's starting to go down the tubes." Harry groused, prompting a grin from Ron and the twins.

"I wouldn't go that far just yet Harry," Ginny piped up, causing multiple sets of eyes to be turned to her.

"Why so?" Hermione asked, leaning in to watch the younger redhead intently.

"Colin and I just came from a Physical Conditioning class." She said. It was only then that the Golden Trio and the twins noticed that Ginny and Colin were wearing the ratty old clothes that had been requested on their school lists.

"What's it like? Is Professor Stifler a good teacher? What will you be doing in the class?" Hermione fired off in rapid succession. Ginny and Colin blinked. Their slightly intimidated expressions made the twins restrain snickers.

"Well… it promises to be an interesting class. And before you tell me to stop being evasive Hermione," Ginny held up her hand when Hermione opened her mouth "Stifler told us that if anyone asked, all we were allowed to say was 'What you learn in the Stifmeister's class _stays_ in the Stifmeister's class.' He promised pain and humiliation if we didn't comply." Ginny shuddered and Hermione frowned.

"'Pain and humiliation'?" she repeated, as though she had not understood the words.

"Yep. And the worst part was that he had this- this- this _really_ creepy grin on when he said that." Colin added. There was silence for a second before Ron started to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" Harry asked. Ron took a moment to regain enough control to speak.

"He (laugh) calls himself (wheeze) _'The Stifmeister'_-!" He broke off to wheeze out another gale of laughter. "That has to be the weirdest nickname I've ever heard!" He stopped laughing when Hermione started to give him the stink eye. When Ron had calmed down, she turned her attention back to Ginny and Colin.

"Can you tell me anything else about Professor Stifler?" she asked as she looked up to the staff table where the young, almost harmless-looking blonde was casually eating something without a care in the world.

"He's-"

"He's disgusting," Colin overrode Ginny. The redhead whipped her head around to glare at him. "No, I'm serious and you can't deny it! It's like he has no morals or inhibitions at all! He'd probably teach the class naked if he could get away with it." He finished. Harry, who had been taking a drink at that very second, spat it back out. No one was sitting across from him, fortunately enough.

"Seriously?" Hermione asked, trying desperately not to picture what Stifler would look like naked. Colin could swear that she started to colour.

"Dead serious. He swears constantly, he makes mean jokes at his students' expense, and I'm pretty sure he was hitting on one or two of the girls at one point." Colin elaborated. The twins looked torn between frowning and howling with laughter. Harry and Ron looked dumbstruck. Hermione's face betrayed her mental denials of Colin's description.

"He can't be _that_ bad, Colin," Hermione answered almost indecisively. "Ginny?" she asked the youngest Weasley, hoping that the elder Creevey brother was exaggerating. Ginny looked conflicted for a few seconds, as though she were thinking of words that got around Stifler's order of silence.

"Well… On the plus side, he doesn't take pureblood attitude. When one of the Slytherins started mouthing off to him about heritage, he tore him a new one. You didn't hear this from me, but he expects us to work with members of the other houses, regardless of which one it is. 'Violence is an acceptable form of quelling dissention in the ranks,' he said." Ginny quoted in what seemed to be a very bad rendition of Stifler's voice. After the quick laugh, shared by everybody but a scandalized Hermione, Ron quickly pulled out his timetable and began scanning it.

"Aw, bloody hell!" Ron groaned, ignoring Hermione's automatic "Language, Ronald!"

"We don't have him until Friday! And it's with all four houses!"

* * *

Looking forward to Stifler's Friday class was the only thing that kept Harry going through the week. His homework was piling up, made only worse because of his torturous detentions with Umbridge. Despite his friends' pleadings, he refused to report her methods to Dumbledore or McGonagall. Angelina Johnson and the rest of the Quidditch team weren't too happy either, what with his detentions cutting into his ability to practice and all. Yep, this week sucked.

It was this thought that made Harry enter Stifler's classroom in his cousin's hand-me-downs with a dull, lifeless look on his face. Ron and Hermione- similarly attired- who had been attempting to cheer him up, stopped talking as they took in the sight of the classroom, which had clearly been expanded to accommodate the forty-four fifth year students. The desks were set up in clusters of four, numbering eleven in total. Hanging on the walls were various tapestries with writing on them in what appeared to be Japanese. There were a few English ones here and there, but Japanese was a majority. In addition, there were foam mats, punching bags in several variations, lengths of jump ropes, racks of weights and rolls of wrist wraps lining the walls.

"This place looks like a dojo." Hermione remarked more to herself.

"Huh?" Ron asked. "A what?"

"A dojo, Weasley. It's where people go to practice martial arts." Said someone behind them. A quick turn revealed the speaker to be Justin Finch-Fletchley, accompanied by several other 'Puffs.

"How do you know that?" Ron asked.

"I practiced karate for a few years," Justin answered as he took a quartet of tables with his housemates. Satisfied with the answer, Ron sat down with Harry and Hermione. Over the next five minutes, the rest of the fifth years trickled into the classroom. Their reactions ranged from disdainful and confused (The purebloods) up to enthusiastic (The Muggleborns and Muggle raised) as they saw the equipment. After all of the desks were filled, the students began to whisper about where Stifler could be.

"Where is he?" Hermione hissed to no one in particular. "We're burning valuable time because Professor…" She trailed off as her eyes set on something at the front of the classroom. Harry and Ron followed her gaze, and indeed, they saw something unusual. There, at the teacher's desk, was a magazine floating in the air. A page turned after a few seconds. Hermione narrowed her eyes to get a better view of what the magazine was; an action mirrored by a handful of other students who had also noticed the floating magazine…

"Oh my God!" Hermione spluttered, "That's disgusting!" She was of course, referring to the fact that the article in question was a copy of _Hustler_ _Magazine_. Across the room, the collective reaction was similar.

"What's disgusting?" Ron asked, clueless as usual.

"_Hustler_ is pornography, Ron!" Hermione snapped. The redhead snapped his eyes to the floating magazine, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Typical," she muttered. The magazine shut and flopped down on the desk a second or two later. As the chair behind the desk ground across the floor, Steven Stifler somehow phased into visibility. His appearance warranted confused muttering from the student populace; he looked like he was going to a biker rally, not a workout session. His black leather jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, and his black leather pants hugged his legs and… other parts.

"Afternoon, kids." Stifler greeted the collective of fifth years with a grin, showing off his gleaming white teeth. "Welcome to your first Physical Conditioning class. As you know, this is a very important year, insert standard OWL speech here, blah, blah, blah." He raised his hand and flapped his fingers, mimicking someone talking. To say the class was surprised at Stifler's blasé attitude was an understatement.

"But even though I'm a teacher, I hate written work and theory just as much as some of you do; more so now because I'd have to read and grade the fucking things." Several students gasped as Stifler casually dropped an F-bomb. "So for all you non-nerds or not-so-studious students, this is your lucky class. Most, if not all of the work here is going to be practical, so do me a favour and when the next lesson rolls around, put all of your books at the back of the room.

"I can tell by the looks on some of your faces that you've all had a hard week. Since I'm feeling generous today, we won't be doing anything except going over some of the course material." Stifler paused and grinned as a few cheers went up through the class. "I thought you might like that." He turned back to his desk and pulled a roll of parchment up.

"I like to be able to put a persona to a name. So when I call you out, I'm going to have you introduce yourself, and tell us a couple things about you. I might ask you a question or two here or there, just a heads up." He was about to start looking for someone to start when a raised hand caught his bright blue eyes. "Yes Miss…?" Stifler trailed off, waiting for the young girl (Hermione) to answer him.

"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger." She answered. Stifler nodded. "Could you maybe demonstrate so we have something to go by?" she asked. The blonde stared at her for a second before he snickered almost unnoticeably. Hermione noticed and raised her eyebrows.

"Sorry, had a quick flashback. One of my old classmates asked the exact same thing when our teacher sprung this on us a while back. Anyway, sure I can give you a demonstration." Stifler cleared his throat and adopted a thoughtful expression for a second. An evil grin lit up his face, causing Hermione to wonder what she had just gotten herself into.

"Hello everyone, I'm Steve Stifler… and I have an eleven inch penis." Stifler said with a completely straight face. Utter silence greeted him. Very quickly, looks of disgust, embarrassment, disbelief and quite a few of envy began to fill the room. Seeing Hermione blush was too much:

Stifler threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Ten seconds later, the blonde still hadn't stopped laughing. After thirty seconds, his face was red and tears started to stream down his cheeks. At the one minute mark he had slumped into his chair, slammed his head into his desk and was beating his fist against the wood. It took another thirty seconds for Stifler to compose himself enough stand back up, but he still broke into a giggle fit. "Sorry," he managed to wheeze out, "but the looks (Snort) on your faces… (gasp) _priceless_!" Stifler took a shaky breath as he composed himself.

"Anyway, that fact aside, I'm an amateur author, and judging by some of the 'I want you' looks from some of the ladies in this place, drop dead sexy." He lowered his voice to a deeper and much sultrier tone as he said 'drop dead sexy'. A handful of the girls shivered at his tone of voice, but not daring to voice their agreement.

They would do so that night, naked in their beds, while visions of Stifler danced through their heads.

The boys were of a different mind. "Colin was right," Harry murmured to Ron. "He's disgusting."

"I heard that, kiddo!" Stifler snapped. Harry jumped and shifted his eyes to Stifler, who was staring at him… from halfway across the room.

'_How the bloody hell did he hear me? I was just whispering to Ron! The people at the next table couldn't hear what I just said!' _Harry wondered. Apparently Ron, Hermione and Dean- who occupied the fourth desk- were wondering the same thing.

"You say I'm disgusting… I say 'If you got it, flaunt it.' 'It' here having the meaning of sex appeal." Stifler shrugged, still with a grin on his face. He addressed the class before Harry could say anything else.

"Just a word of warning to all of you: As I just displayed, I have extremely good hearing. How good is it, really? I could hear a pin drop from across the Great Hall if I really wanted to, so don't try talking shit about me inside or outside of my class." Stifler warned, leering at the class. "Now, let's start with the introductions. They don't have to be as… personal as mine, but they should say at least a little bit about what kind of person you are. Let's start with you, shall we?" Stifler pointed to Millicent Bulstrode, who began her introduction without missing a beat.

The introductions went swiftly along. True to his word, Stifler asked a few random people a question or two. A few of them were honest questions; a few of them were joke questions and often sexual in nature. Six times he snapped at people for slandering the one who was introducing themselves, but not once did he take points from a house. That struck Harry as rather odd. Finally, dread wracking him, Harry stood and made his introduction. He hated the feel of everyone's eyes upon him, but luckily, everyone remained silent throughout his fairly generic introduction. Stifler though, did not gesture for the next person to introduce themselves. That meant he was going to ask a question.

"Harry… Can I call you that?" he backed up, cocking one of his eyebrows. Harry nodded slowly, unsure of where the blonde was going. "Okay good, cuz I was gonna call you that anyways," Stifler said, prompting a restrained laugh from a handful of students. "I just wanna say that I believe you." And he moved on. At that point, Harry could have cared less if Stifler started roasting him; having him say those words just made his week.

It was near the end of the first hour of their double period when the introductions ended. "Now that we've all introduced ourselves, as promised, I'll tell you a little bit about my course." Stifler stopped behind his desk and leaned forward, grasping either end of the furniture. "I know for a fact that some of you have been thinking all week 'Why _is_ physical conditioning necessary?' Well, brace yourself because the truth is about to run you over like a freight train from hell. Over the past week, I've seen eleven instances of violence break out. Of all these instances, not a single party used anything but magic. I have observed most of you, and I have come to the opinion that without your wands, none of you could effectively fight your way out of a wet paper bag. Having noticed this fact before me, the Old Man proposed that I come here and teach you. Teach you what, though?

"I'm not going to be teaching you magic, nor am I going to teach you how to defend yourself because Frog-Bitch won't do it. No, I'm going to be teaching you something very simple; I'm going to be teaching you how to fight." Stifler stopped to take a breath and observe the mixed expressions on the students' faces.

"Along the way, I'm going to be teaching you the values of exercise because, by the looks of things, some of you pudgy little bastards could use that knowledge." Stifler's expression was grim as he glared at the now extremely self-conscious body of students.

"For our first few weeks together, quite simply, I'm going to be busting your asses so hard that some of you might wish you were dead before the month is out. But, if you can tough it out, the reward will be well worth the pain. For example…" Stifler stopped talking as he grabbed the zipper on his jacket and pulled it down in one fluid motion.

The girls thought he was cute before; they all thought he was a god now as he shrugged off his jacket to bare his upper body. His skin was blemish free and his muscular build was something straight out of a _Playgirl_ magazine. Sitting close to where he was standing, Tracy Davis could have sworn she saw a bead of sweat fall from his hairline onto his sharply defined six pack and evaporate instantly.

What drew the attention of everybody though, were the two tattoos on Stifler's body. The first was some sort of whirlpool on his belly with spiraling characters surrounding it. For reasons no one could place, staring at this image gave them the creeps. The second tattoo was a long string of characters wound around his left arm like a snake. It extended from just below his armpit all the way to his wrist.

"I've looked almost everywhere, and I've found no evidence of magic ever leading to this kind of perfection." Stifler grinned, striking a heroic pose. "Gentlemen, if you follow my instructions, you could very well end the year starting to look like me. Minus a really _big_ part, if ya know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, eliciting a repeat of the responses to his introduction.

"Moving on. Before I start to whip you all into shape, I'll be dividing you into teams. These teams are of my choosing, and that brings us to some of the life lessons I will drill into you during this class." Stifler grasped the top of the blackboard by his desk and roughly spun it. After several rotations, it landed on the opposing side, which had several bullet points on it.

"Lesson, the first:" Stifler recited, pointing to the first bullet point. "Heritage-based prejudices, under absolutely no circumstances your twisted little minds can conceive, will _not_ be tolerated. Those who ignore this lesson will be subjected to the worst sorts of punishment I can think of. Slytherin house, I'm looking at you." Stifler narrowed his eyes and glared at said house members, who flinched under the piercing gaze.

"Oh, don't act so high and mighty just yet Ronny Boy." Stifler called, causing Ron to snap his gaze back to the blonde. "That little comment about you and Hermione being able to taunt Draco and him being unable to respond brings me to lesson the first part two: House-based prejudices, again, under no circumstances you can think of, will _also_ not be tolerated. Why am I telling you this? Because whether you like it or not, you _will_ be teamed up with members of _all_ the other houses, no exceptions. Violation of this tenet is also punishable by anything I can think of." Stifler grinned as many members of the class looked at each other, shot him expressions of great chagrin, or just muttered unhappily. When the students expected him to continue on with his life lessons, they were again thrown off when he flipped the board back over.

"For the remainder of the period, you all can ask me questions about whatever comes to mind. They can be about me, about the class, it doesn't really matter. I will answer what I'm capable of answering, although if you ask about something I consider private, I'll let you know. Ask me good questions, and I might leave my jacket off." Stifler surveyed the room with a grin as a handful of the girls started drooling again, waiting for the hands to go up. "Yes, Hannah?" he asked as Hannah Abbott raised her hand.

"Um, I was just wondering Professor… How old are you?" the pigtailed 'Puff asked slowly.

"I'll be nineteen come October tenth." Stifler answered candidly. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, um, it's just that you seem pretty young to be teaching." Hannah elaborated. Stifler shrugged.

"Age doesn't count for much if you're the best at what you do." He said sagely. "Anyone else… Ernie?" He looked back towards the pompous Hufflepuff.

"Um, yes. Professor, you caught six students insulting the ones who were introducing themselves; but not once did you take a single point from their houses. Why?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Stifler stared at him for a moment before a smirk pulled at his lips.

"You're a prissy little schmoe, ain'tcha?" He asked, making Ernie splutter partly out of indignance at being insulted, partly out of ignorance regarding the term 'schmoe'. "Anyways, let me give you a little bit of an eye-opener: The House Cup competition is a worthless piece of camel shit." He stopped when people started protesting their disagreement.

"Now, before you start getting shirty with me, let's look at a few things. First, what is the House Cup awarded for? Anyone?" Stifler paused and predictably, Hermione answered.

"The House Cup is awarded to the House with the most points, which are earned through academic achievements, and subtracted for rule-breaking and disrespecting teachers." Hermione recited. Stifler blinked, and nodded after a second.

"And should a House win the tournament, what is the end result?" Stifler continued.

"The House banners would be the décor at the feast, and the head of house would have the House Cup displayed in their office." Hermione answered. Stifler nodded.

"And what is the reward given to the members of the House?" Stifler asked. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but closed it as a thoughtful look came over her face. Stifler's grin returned when comprehension lit up her eyes.

"Now you see? The House Cup competition is used to brainwash students into sucking up to the professors for absolutely nothing in return." Stifler explained for the benefit of the students who still looked confused. "Sure, getting good grades is all well and good, but the deal's a lot less sweet if there isn't a carrot at the end. A reward, idiots." Stifler sighed when some of the students looked at him blankly.

"_That's_ why I didn't take points, Ernie; the competition doesn't mean anything. Remember that, all of you." The blonde finished. Ernie had one of his black eyebrows cocked in surprise.

"Well, that was, um… enlightening." Ernie managed. Stifler smiled widely.

"Glad I could intellectually stimulate you. Next!" He said instantly, again proving that he could throw you for loops whenever he wanted. His eyes roved the room until they rested on a raised hand belonging to "Lavender?" he addressed the pretty blonde.

"Um, I was just wondering… no, forget it." She waved her hand in dismissal.

"… Okay Lavender, just so you know, doing that will only make me want to know what you were going to ask even more, so you might as well ask it before I go all 'Puppy Eyes' on your sweet little ass." Stifler stifled a giggle when Lavender went three shades of red at his blatant flirting.

"Okay (giggle). My question was do you have a girlfriend?" Lavender admitted. Harry swore that the class became even quieter as every girl began to focus intently on Stifler. Except for Hermione, who rolled her eyes. For a few seconds, the class waited for Stifler to teasingly insult Lavender or make some sort of crude joke. What happened surprised them; Stifler's eyes dimmed and his mouth fell into a small frown.

"Not anymore… Stupid whore." He grumbled under his breath loud enough for a few people to hear. Lavender looked concerned.

"What happened?" Lavender murmured before clapping her hands over her mouth. With his incredible hearing, Stifler heard her.

"That's a little too personal, Lavender. And if you asked me your original question for the reason I'm thinking of, I haven't quite gotten over her yet, so you'll have to wait until after my imminent drinking binge to try and console me." Stifler smiled sadly. And just like that, the mood in the classroom went from lighthearted to 'heavyhearted'.

"Any more questions?" Stifler asked. Again, no hands rose for a few seconds until…

"Padma?" Stifler set his eyes on the Ravenclaw Patil twin.

"I was just wondering Professor, aside from your heartbreak, what you would consider an inappropriate question." She asked. Stifler blinked.

"Good question, Doll Two." Stifler snickered through his teeth when Padma blushed and spluttered at the unexpected nickname. He also noticed that Anthony Goldstein shot him a frown. _'Somebody's got it bad!' _the (more) devilish part of his brain chirped.

"Well, since you put me on the spot like that…" He sighed loudly as he crossed his arms and looked off into space. A moment later, he blinked and returned to Earth.

"Well, one example would be asking me to prove to you that Big Poppa Fox is as long as he is." Stifler answered, laughing again as people looked disgusted or baffled.

"You… You call your… you call your ding-dong 'Big Poppa Fox'?" Hermione bleated, looking as though she was just asked how magnets work **(1)**. Stifler tilted his head and gave her an odd look.

"You call cocks 'ding-dongs'?" He asked her. The bushy-haired girl was at a loss for words; Stifler was completely incorrigible.

"I'm sure every guy over… no, I _know_ every guy over the age of thirteen nicknames their dick something. Of course, they'll never tell you, unless they happen to be the Stifmeister." The blonde grinned that shit-eating grin of his as the students processed what he had just told them, and looked shifty (the boys) at the same time. "Anyone else?" he asked. The predictable silence followed until Hermione's hand rose again.

"Hermione?" Stifler asked.

"You said in your introduction that you were an author. I've never heard of your works before. Do you write under a pen name?" she asked quickly. Stifler appeared to be thinking for a second before his expression went morose.

"Well, in truth, I inherited the series. My godfather was the original author, and when he died a couple years back, the responsibility of continuing the series just sort of passed on to me. That's part one of why you haven't heard of my… No, _our_ series. Calling it mine sounds like sacrilege. Part two is because the books aren't written in English; they're written in Japanese, but I've almost finished translating all five of them." Stifler stopped to take a breath.

"You speak Japanese?" Hermione asked, somewhat impressed.

"What, the big tapestries written in Japanese didn't clue you in?" Stifler teased with that grin of his, making Hermione sniff at the light-hearted jab. "I studied in Japan for my entire academic career. So naturally, I had to speak the language." He answered.

"How many books have you written?" Terry Boot asked.

"My godfather wrote the first four, I wrote the fifth, and I've finished about a third of the rough draft of the sixth one. Mine wasn't quite as successful as his were, but I chock that up to being my first foray into writing and skeptical fans." Stifler explained.

"What kind of books are they?" Hermione pressed. Stifler snorted quietly.

"Well, my godfather's books started out leaning towards the adventure genre, but by the third book they took a turn towards the romantic side. My book takes the action of the first book to a whole new level. I think that step up is what caused some of the negative feedback from the fans." Stifler mused, stroking his chin.

"How action-y are we talking here?" Seamus Finnegan asked.

"Let me put it this way kid: Quentin Tarantino would be proud of me." Stifler replied. Many of the Muggleborn and Muggle-raised students were muttering amongst themselves, while the Pure and Half-bloods looked nonplussed.

"Who's Quentin Tarantino?" asked Susan Bones. Stifler grinned.

"A Muggle movie director. For those of you not in the know, a movie is kind of like a magic photograph, only much longer and comes with sound. Quentin Tarantino has directed quite a few movies, and all of them cater to people who- for lack of a better term- have boners for violence." Stifler grinned at the disgusted looks on the faces of the more prudish students, while some of them looked shocked.

"So yeah, my book is _that_ violent." Stifler finished. He looked down at the black watch on his right hand. "We're getting near the end of the class, so we should only have time for a few more questions. Any takers?" The silence reigned for almost a minute before a very unexpected hand went up. "Draco?" Stifler addressed the blonde Slytherin.

"Professor, I was just wondering, what did they teach you over in Japan? I only saw you use magic when you were invisible and waiting for us." Draco stated. Stifler took a long look at him.

"Wish I could tell you kid, but ever since the Old Man offered me a position here, the Japanese Magical Government has been on me like a motherfucker. If I were to spill any secrets about what I was taught there, they'd have my ass with a side order of fries and coleslaw." Stifler chuckled at his analogy, as did a handful of the students.

"And why are you asking about my magical education? That has nothing to do with what I'm going to be teaching you." Stifler added with narrowed eyes. Draco blinked, giving pause at the blonde's sudden response, but not relenting.

"Well, what happens when we're physically fit but our potential opponents have wands? I seriously doubt that our fists will be able to match up to magic." He added, not realizing what he had just insinuated. It was this obliviousness that made him shrink back when Stifler glared icily at him.

"You do realize you just called me inferior to all people who can only wave their wands and throw magic around, right?" the blonde snarled. Draco's pale eyes widened.

"I-I didn't mean that, I just-"

"You just think you're better than me because I was taught to use my magic in a different way than you, and I spent years mastering how to fight with my body at the same time? Is _that_ what you meant, you blue-blooded shit?" The insulting swears were not teasing anymore; they were vehement and spiteful. Draco looked half intimidated, half-convinced of Stifler's description of what he believed.

"Perhaps a demonstration is necessary. Stand up Draco, we're going to dance; your magic versus my physical prowess." Stifler picked his jacket off the floor and zipped it up. His boots made surprisingly little noise as he stepped into the large bare spot at the front of the class. Draco took his spot on the other side of the bare area, and gulped as he realized just how intimidating his 5'11" 183 pound Physical Conditioning instructor was.

"The rest of you, move to the back of the class." Stifler ordered, and everyone obeyed instantly. "Okay Draco, your objective is to try and incapacitate me. I do however, draw the line at curses that do things like slice, melt or explode stuff. Got it?" He explained. Draco nodded and pulled out his wand.

"No hard feelings when I hex you into next week?" Draco taunted with a sneer. The class gasped and reacted in shock. Stifler simply smirked as he cracked his knuckles; the noise was more like a rapid burst of gunfire.

"None at all, because you just wrote a cheque your ass can't cash you cockmongering queefburger." Stifler spat, laughing at the enraged face Malfoy made. It didn't help the mouthy Pureblood that the rest of the class was laughing at him too.

"You'll pay for that, Stifler! _Stupefy_!" Malfoy cried, blasting out a red curse quickly. He couldn't help but smirk when Stifler cocked an eyebrow, but didn't move. The smirk promptly vanished when the older blonde threw himself into a backflip, rising seven feet into the air; the curse missed him by a good six inches. When he landed back on the ground, he grinned cheekily. Irked further, Malfoy threw a Knockback Jinx, which Stifler didn't even jump away from, simply opting to lean to the side.

The 'dance' as Stifler called it, went on for several minutes. Malfoy tossed spells around like candy, and Stifler wound around them with little to no effort. Harry was amazed by Stifler's technique. He moved around so easily and with such grace it almost seemed like he was made of silk ribbons, flapping in the wind.

"What the hell, man?" Stifler asked after a no-hands cartwheel to dodge a Jelly-Legs Jinx. "It's been six minutes now. I thought you were going to 'hex me into next week'?" Stifler quoted Malfoy, using a derp voice.

"Shut up!" Malfoy shouted, tossing out a Tickling Charm which Stifler only had to move his head to avoid. "Fight back, dammit!" Famous last words.

"Okay!" Stifler chirped as he ducked under another Stunner and launched himself forwards like a spring, crossing the ten foot distance between Malfoy and himself. He transitioned into a roll and before Malfoy could react, ended in a crouch position about a foot away from the Slytherin and drove his fist forwards.

_WHUKCH_

"AAAAAH!" Malfoy emitted a short scream. Everyone in the room flinched at the pitch and volume, and craned their bodies to discover why: Stifler had punched Malfoy…

"Right in the jewels," Stifler crowed with a short laugh. The entire class soon echoed him as the Slytherin 'Prince' curled up on the floor, moaning and clutching his luggage. He was drowned out when the end of period bell sounded.

"And that's a wrap. Next class we'll be getting into teams and starting on some exercise. Have a nice day, since you're my last class this week you can talk about what happens in here to your fellow students, and enjoy having a concave dick you mouthy son of a bitch." Stifler spat as Malfoy slowly raised himself up and started to walk gingerly away.

"When my father hears about this-"

"Daddy Malfoy couldn't touch me with a ten foot pole Draco." Stifler called to the now scurrying Malfoy scion. Again, laughs went all around.

* * *

"Well, that class just made my week." Ron sighed contentedly as they walked down the hall. Harry grunted in agreement.

"Sure, he's funny, but he's so unprofessional." Hermione remarked. Ron rolled his eyes.

"You've got to admit though Hermione, it's a good change from what we'd normally go through. And don't even try to deny you were ogling him." Harry lightly ribbed his best female friend, who went pink immediately.

"Well… Okay, yes, he's good-looking, but he could at least try and swear a little bit less!" She added upon seeing Ron smirk. The teasing continued all the way down to the Great Hall and into dinner. In fact, the chatter about Stifler and his class didn't stop until…

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed, looking to his left to see what hit him. His interest piqued when he saw a parchment airplane (A fucking parchment airplane!) fall to the side of him. He picked it up cautiously and unfolded it. His eyebrows slowly rose as he took in the words.

"What is it?" Ron asked, for once without food in his mouth.

"Who's it from?" Hermione added.

"It's from Stifler," Harry answered, but he still wasn't quite sure he had read the note correctly. "He says he wants me to meet him in his office tomorrow at seven so we can 'get to know each other over a couple of drinks'." Harry quoted. Hermione and Ron looked at him in disbelief before snatching the note away from him to read it themselves.

"It's official," Ron started after a few seconds, "Stifler is the coolest teacher ever."

* * *

**And that's a wrap! Sorry there wasn't a lot of action or funnies, but I promise I'll throw some in the next chapter as well as some… not telling! Please:**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**(1) Problem, fans?**

**Peace,**

**DR**

**P.S.: You just lost The Game**


	5. Paging Dr Awesome

**The World Order**

**By: Dirty Reid**

**A.N.: No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks! School's out for summer! And do you know what that means, boys and girls? More fanfiction! Yaaaay!**

**Chapter 5: Paging Dr. Awesome**

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Harry wondered what he could have done to warrant Stifler's attention. Sure, the note said that he wanted to chat over a couple of drinks, but the bespectacled hero couldn't help but feel as though there was an ulterior motive behind the blonde body builder's invitation. What that motive could be plagued his mind every step of the way to Stifler's office. It was almost an ache beating a tattoo against his frontal lobe as he knocked on the young blonde's office door.

"It's open!" Stifler called from inside his office. Harry slowly opened the heavy door and took in the sight of Stifler's office. The blonde must have called from his adjoining personal quarters, because he was nowhere to be seen. Spartan described the office quite adequately. There were two padded chairs and a small circular table sitting in front of his simple oak desk, which had several stacks of paper and a plethora of pens and pencils strewn about it. Those Muggle items struck Harry as odd, but he supposed that not having to stop every few seconds to re-ink a quill would save a lot of time.

Looking around the office, Harry noted the walls were bare, save two small photos hanging on the wall behind Stifler's desk; Muggle photos at that. Squinting to get a better look, Harry saw that they both featured Stifler with a different woman. On the right, Stifler appeared to be walking through a dense forest and was laughing hard. Riding on his back was a gorgeous girl with long, platinum blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. Even from here, it was clear she was no slouch in the endowment department, Harry noted with a small blush. She too was laughing as she held Stifler's shoulders tightly. Seeing two people having such childish fun brought a smile to Harry's face. The second photo was taken at night. Stifler was wearing some sort of dark red yukata and smiling just as widely as when he was ribbing Harry's class during their introductions. His right arm was wrapped around a…

Harry stopped for a moment as he looked at the _white-eyed _woman that was kissing Stifler on the cheek. Now that he looked, calling her a woman was a stretch; she was barely more than a child! Perhaps a year or two younger than Harry. In spite of her age, he had to admit she was very pretty. She was not so thin as to the point of being emaciated, but it made her… regal was the only word Harry could think of. Her hair was so dark brown it was almost black. Half of it fell midway down her back, and the other half was tied up in a bun with a pair of what appeared to be needles crossed through it. Her own yukata was blue and almost as dark as her hair, making the curling white leaves embroidered on it look so much brighter. She held a cute, stuffed fox or wolf in her right hand, obviously some sort of prize from the festival this picture was taken at.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Stifler asked, the volume of his voice indicating he was right behind Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived emitted a very unmanly shriek and jumped a foot into the air. He turned around and clutched his vibrating heart, trying and failing to glare at Stifler, who had that oh-so-annoying shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"You're looking a little pale there, kid. Something scare you?" Stifler turned away and laughed uproariously as Harry scowled, colour slowly returning to his face. The scowl quickly turned into a look of surprise as the older teen snapped his fingers and a large cabinet filled with bottles of various shapes and sizes phased into existence.

"What'll it be, kiddo?" Stifler asked as he cracked open the top of the cabinet. Harry stepped closer to his instructor and peered over his shoulder.

"Do you have any Butterbeer?" he asked. Stifler stopped rooting around and looked back over his shoulder. Had Harry been familiar with the increasingly prominent language known to Muggles as 'Chat-Speak', he would have called the face Stifler made a 'WTF look'.

"Seriously? I'm offering you anything in this cabinet to drink and you ask for a _Butterbeer_? What are you, the designated Apparator? Live a little!" Stifler exclaimed. Harry didn't know why, but something about the blonde's goading spurred him to take the advice.

"Alright… I'll try that." Harry pointed to a circular bottle of amber liquor with no label he could read. Stifler cocked an eyebrow.

"Going for the scotch right off the smash, eh kid?" He asked. "Good man. On the rocks or straight?"

"What?" Harry blurted, highly confused. Stifler gave a put-upon sigh.

"With or without ice?" he explained as he poured a pair of tumblers.

"Oh. With ice please," Harry replied. Stifler nodded and scooped out a handful of ice from a silver cylinder, dropping a few cubes into each glass.

"Take a seat." Stifler pointed to one of the squishy leather chairs before crashing into one of them and, remarkably, did not spill his drinks. Harry slowly sat down opposite the older blonde teen and accepted the tumbler of scotch. He took a small sip and avoided making a face as the strong liquor burned a stream down his throat. In the silence, Harry took in his teacher. He had changed his clothes to an outfit that college boys everywhere wished they could pull off. How a member of the Hogwarts faculty got away with wearing an untucked white button-up shirt, jeans, trainers and a black-and-orange striped tie with his string of tattoos hanging out was beyond him.

"Rough week?" Stifler finally said after a sip of his significantly fuller glass.

"You could say that, sir." Harry answered. Stifler held up his hand.

"Drop the 'sir' shit when we're not in class Harry, I'm young enough to be your brother." Stifler admonished. Harry had the decency to duck his head. "You can call me Steven, Steve or just Stifler when it's just the two of us."

"Alright si- Stifler." Harry caught himself, prompting a quick grin from the blonde.

"Judging by the bags under your eyes and the nice new bit of self-mutilation an emo kid would be proud of, I'd say it's downplaying your week to half agree with me." Harry had to take a moment to understand what Stifler just said. When he did, he unconsciously snaked his right hand into his sleeve just a little more.

"It's nothing," he said quickly; an almost automatic response after dodging questions from Ron and Hermione about it all week. But if Harry thought Stifler would be deterred by a brush-off as lame as that, he clearly had no idea who he was dealing with.

"Yeah, and I'm a fucking poster boy for saving yourself for marriage." Stifler scoffed. The blink of an eye later, his hand lashed out and grabbed Harry's wrist. Harry jumped at the inhuman display of speed and the vice grip his wrist was held in. His struggles were utterly fruitless against the jacked-up professor.

"Eww, nasty." Stifler grumbled. He held up his right hand and closed his eyes. Harry watched Stifler for a few seconds, and was about to ask what he was doing, when Stifler's hand started to glow sea foam green. Harry's heart beat faster as the glowing appendage came down on his sore hand, unsure of what was about to happen. His eyes widened as soothing warmth surged through his hand, and the scabbed words began to heal and fade before his eyes. A handful of seconds later, there was no sign that Umbridge had ever tortured him remaining. Stifler grinned and released Harry's hand.

"Thank you," Harry said with a grateful smile. Stifler nodded.

"No problem and I'd appreciate it if you keep that to yourself. By the way, if that sick fuck keeps doing that to you, come and see me if it gets to be too much, okay?" He offered. Harry nodded immediately, taking another sip of his scotch. Stifler began to follow suit, but stopped short of the alcohol touching his lips and let off a dark chuckle; the sound sent the hair on the nape of Harry's neck springing up. The blonde must have caught Harry's pause, because he responded:

"The fact that I called someone a sick fuck is kinda rich, considering some of the things I've done in my lifetime." He said with another pull on his glass.

"Um… like what?" Harry blurted out before clenching his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to say that and was about to apologize when Stifler half-answered him.

"Let's just say a few of the practical tests the academy put its charges through were questionable, to say the absolute least." Stifler said vaguely. Having been deprived of information all summer, Harry found his anger bubbling up again. Just as he inhaled to ask a question about these 'practical tests', Stifler cut him off.

"Remember how I didn't elaborate on what I was taught in class earlier today, Harry?" The young Gryffindor nodded slowly. "Well, like I said there, the government is _really_ secretive about anything that could give information about their country. If I tried to order a magical book from Japan right now, I'd probably be looking at three to four months of red tape to sift through. Yeah, crazy, right?" He said at Harry's raised eyebrows. Another swig. Harry fished around in his brain for another question about this mysterious academy whose answer wouldn't circumvent the strict terms Stifler was to abide by.

"Er… If you've lived in Japan most of your life, how come you can speak English so well?" He finally asked. Stifler paused, staring for a moment.

"… The academy made you learn the language of your birth country, alongside Japanese. This was in case you decided to go back there. Magic helped out too." Stifler finally admitted. "And I'm sorry kid, but that's pretty much all I can tell you." He said with a small shake of his head and a sympathetic look in his eye. Knowing he would not get anything else out of the blonde, Harry took another sip of his scotch and languidly rolled his head around, looking at the office. He was beginning to feel a faint sort of dizzy feeling tickling the back of his skull that was making it harder to concentrate. Fortunately for Harry, his eyes landed on the two photos hanging beside the door to Stifler's office.

"Are those two girls friends of yours?" He asked. Stifler considered Harry's question for a second or two.

"Friends, classmates and ex-girlfriends." Stifler replied. "The blonde one is Ida Yamantau. She's from somewhere in Russia. We've known each other a little over nine years now. We only started dating within the last ten months. But we broke it off after I got this assignment." Stifler explained, his face glazing over and his mouth stretching into a grin. "Kinky as hell, that one," he muttered loud enough for Harry to hear. The wizard didn't shiver, because he really wasn't sure he knew what Stifler was talking about. Sure, his dorm-mates had discussed girls and the various acts performed with them, but it all seemed to be in some sort of code. Coupled with his piss-poor upbringing, Harry was left woefully ignorant of the subject of sex. Something Stifler said about Ida rang again in his mind though…

"Wait, she's from Russia? How did she- and you, for that matter- wind up in a school in Japan?" Harry was _really_ hoping Stifler answered this question. As the older blonde developed a thoughtful look, Harry crossed his fingers. Almost a minute passed in silence.

"Truthfully? Most of the people at the academy are there because they had nowhere else to go. Orphans, vagabonds, some were even disowned. Ida… well, she ran away from her parents when she was nine and got picked up about ten minutes before she died of starvation." Stifler shuddered a little. "And if she heard me tell you that, she'd kick my ass to high heaven three times over." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"She's that good at fighting?" He asked. Stifler nodded.

"Little known fact about me, kid? I'm attracted to women who can kick my ass; never really asked myself why that is." Stifler said contemplatively. Harry brought the subject back to the girls in the pictures, growing uncomfortable with the subject his deviant professor was sidling up to.

"And the other girl?" He asked. He noticed that his words were ever so slightly slurred, and looked down at his nearly empty glass. The scotch may have been strong, but it went down easily.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I got distracted. Don't do that!" Stifler scolded wryly, prompting a (manly) giggle from Harry. "The other girl is Hanna B. Hughes, as she prefers to introduce herself. She's part Chinese, part American, and her family has a long history with the academy. A lot of the others called this an unfair advantage. Judging by the looks on your face when you saw her picture, I'm guessing you're thinking that I'm chasing jail bait? Well, just a little FYI, once you're accepted into the academy, you're considered an adult when you're thirteen. The mentors there say that you can make tougher decisions better if you learn how to do them from an early age." Stifler explained. Somewhat satisfied, Harry pressed on.

"What's with her eyes? She isn't blind, is she?" He asked. Stifler shook his head.

"Nah. That's a side effect of the techniques she chose to study." Stifler answered in a conspiratorial fashion, indicating that he couldn't tell Harry anything more.

"And Ida? I noticed she doesn't have any pupils either." Harry added.

"Sort of the same thing." Stifler replied, pouring his charge another glass. For a moment, the only sound was the slight hiss of entraining air as teacher and student sipped their drinks.

"What about you?" Harry murmured after a moment. "What's your story?" Stifler paused for a moment, and his bright blue eyes darkened.

"From what my caretakers tell me, my father was a politician with a few nasty enemies, and my mom popped one too many sleeping pills not too long after he got offed. A Japanese couple- my caretakers- picked me up, brought me back to Japan and raised me. The academy offered me admission when I was eight; my caretakers, bless them, urged me to take the opportunity. So I took the academy up on its offer and I've never looked back since." Stifler allowed himself a wistful smile. "And if I hadn't attended, I wouldn't have the sick sense of humour everyone loves me for." This statement made Harry laugh. Stifler cocked an eyebrow.

"What'd I say?" He asked. Harry collected himself slightly slower than usual. _'That scotch is _strong_,'_ he thought.

"People 'loving' your sick sense of humour is a bit of a stretch, Stifler." Harry said with a wry grin. It dropped just a little bit when that shit-eating grin lit the blonde's face back up again.

"Oh believe me Harry, by the end of this year, I will be worshipped as a god among men for well and truly unleashing my sick sense of humour upon this place. The lewd comments and flaunting of my sexuality are just the beginning." Stifler proclaimed grandly. Had the alcohol not given him a pleasantly numb feeling throughout his body, Harry might have done just a little more than shivered. It also might have spurred him to ask the question he asked next:

"What did you have in mind?" Even slightly intoxicated, Harry couldn't help but want to shrink back in fear at the grin the blonde sent his way.

'… Where's the fun in telling you?" Harry groaned quietly in disappointment.

"Aww, come on! You can't just tease me like that and walk away!" Harry protested. Stifler snickered.

"Oh, but I can Harry; that's one of the easiest ways to draw women to you, is to tease them and dance out of their reach! Women are just as likely to rise to a challenge as men. Remember that the next time you're out trawling bars for some floozy to sleep with." Stifler drained his glass and slammed it down on the table, poured himself another round and topped Harry's glass off. Another moment of companionable silence passed between teacher and student, punctuated by clinking ice cubes, tumbler on tabletop and the occasional quiet slurp of liquor on lips.

"… Alright, I've put this off long enough," Harry muttered with a shake of his head.

"Put what off?" Stifler asked, staring over the rim of his glass.

"Why did you ask me here? We both know it wasn't just to talk over a few drinks." Harry answered. Stifler blinked.

"Okay then, so you do have something up there besides a puddle of grey sludge, as some others might claim." Harry was again unsure of whether or not to bristle indignantly. "Anyway, yes, I asked you here for a couple reasons. The first, because I figured you were going to have it rough this year, what with that batwing you call a Minister forcing the _Prophet _into running a smear campaign against you and the Old Man." Stifler paused to take another sip of his drink. After a small belch, he continued. "So I figured you could use a little while to unwind every now and then. And what better way is there to unwind than with a couple of drinks and a teacher you can talk smack with?" Harry nodded at the points the blonde made.

"The other reason… well, it's because I see a little bit of myself in you." Stifler admitted. Being on the track to inebriation he was on, Harry could be forgiven for being confused by Stifler's statement.

"What d'you mean by that?" he asked, letting his head tilt/fall to the side. Stifler snorted quietly.

"In small words then: You remind me of myself when I was a kid." Stifler stopped when Harry cocked his eyebrows. "Okay, when I was a _younger_ kid. You care a lot for your friends, more so than yourself; you didn't have a stellar childhood; and most similar between us both is this: We can swallow anything thrown at us- even if it seems impossible- and shit luck by the truckload." Harry had to blink at the blonde's off-the-wall comments. Though tipsy, he knew that if he asked about their shared luck, he wouldn't get an answer. Backtracking it was.

"… What's a 'batwing'? I mean, besides a bat's actual wing." Harry asked. Stifler snorted.

"It's what you call your ball sack after you've stretched it out far enough to see all the little veins and shit." Stifler said with a straight face. Harry was glad he hadn't taken a sip of his drink, otherwise he probably would have spat it out.

"Jesus!" He exclaimed, "What is it with you and being random and offensive all the time?" He asked. Stifler cocked one of his eyebrows.

"What's wrong with being random and offensive?"

"It's annoying!"

"It's funny!"

"It makes people think you're an arse!"

"I _am _an ass! I can also punch my way out of any situation, and get into the pants of any girl I want, so I can afford to be one!" Stifler rebuked with an air of finality. Harry was scrambling for something else to say when Stifler became rigid and his blue eyes darted to his bedchambers' door.

"Right on time. Stay here for a minute and finish your drink kid; I've got a guest to greet." Stifler instructed before tossing back his scotch and jumped out of his seat, showing no sign of inebriation. Harry tracked Stifler as he opened the door to his bedchamber and darted in, slamming the door shut. Blinking twice and marveling at his teacher's hearing abilities, Harry turned back to his near-empty tumbler and started to sip at it quickly. He finished it about two or three minutes before Stifler opened the door to his bedchamber and stuck his head out.

"Alright Harry, we're ready. C'mon in here and just play along, okay?" Stifler said before whisking back into the room. Highly confused, Harry slowly got to his feet. With a slight sway in his step, he made his way to Stifler's bedchamber.

The room he entered hit his alcohol-addled mind like a firework display. The king-sized bed was circular, and covered with a lush, red comforter that complemented the shiny, black-tiled floor. The ceiling was composed entirely of mirrors. There were a couple of leather and plush couches and a crackling fire. Sitting on one of the couches…

Harry stopped at the drool-worthy sight of Druella Rosmerta sitting daintily on one of the couches. She was wearing a pair of bright red stripper heels and lacy white stockings, which clung nicely to her long, toned legs. Were she to stand up, the outfit she had on would be hard pressed to conceal her modesty. Were she to take a deep breath, Harry was certain that the mostly unbuttoned upper half of her outfit would be incapable of stopping her supple breasts from breaking free of their prison. Her pale skin brought out the brightness of her red-stained lips and her icy blue eyes almost glowed between her immaculate raccoon eyes and wavy lashes. Her hair, normally hanging about in ringlets, was up in a ponytail that pushed up the cute, white hat with a red cross on it. Harry said nothing, but returned her coy little wave. He felt his other head waking up mighty fast and heard his conscience- which was just as inebriated as he was- shouting _'Hell-oooooooooooooo, nurse!'_

"Ah, Mr. Potter, just on time for your appointment. Please, take a seat." Said Stifler from the side. Harry turned to see the blonde in a set of scrubs that were a little tight across his chest. A nametag was pinned across the right side of his chest and, upon inspection, Harry discerned the name as 'Dr. Awesome' just after he sat down in one of the leather chairs. Harry also noted that instead of a stethoscope, Stifler, or, Dr. Awesome, carried a pair of handcuffs. Harry's heart beat a little bit faster, wondering what the 'doctor' was going to do with those.

"So Mr. Potter, I believe you wanted to see me about your health?" the doctor asked, all professional. Harry was about to ask what Stifler was talking about when the blonde's earlier order rang through his head.

"Er… yes, I did. I… I've been fairly stressed lately. I was, er, hoping you could help me find some way to, er, deal with it, doctor." Harry answered, slowly getting into the 'game'. 'Dr. Awesome' nodded with a small grin.

"I'll see what I can do. Nurse Rosie, would you please inspect the patient so we may determine an appropriate treatment?" The 'doctor' requested. 'Nurse Rosie' smiled.

"Of course, doctor." She affirmed in a low, smoky tone that made Harry's other head twitch. Rosie leaned forward to stand up, giving her mildly drunk 'patient' a nice look down her uniform. She sauntered forward, her heels clicking loudly against the tiles and her hips swinging tantalizingly. Harry felt his face grow warm as Rosie traced a finger across his shoulder. He swallowed nervously as she gently placed her hands on the junctions between his shoulders and his neck.

"He's incredibly tense, doctor." Rosie purred as she softly began to apply pressure to her hands' resting places. It didn't do much, but Harry still managed to feel a modicum of relief wash through him. "At his current rate, his burnout phase is going to be _intense_." The emphasis she put on the word 'intense' was downright sexy.

"Okay, so, intense burnout phase…" Stifler looked down to write on a piece of paper on the table he was perched on. "Do you have any coping methods for dealing with stress, Mr. Potter?" He asked. Harry found it hard to concentrate with a barely-clothed Rosie draped around him like a shirt.

"Erm, flying, usually. But I can't do that all the time. Sometimes I'll play chess with Ron and… that's it." Harry finished lamely. Stifler nodded impassively.

"Kind of a personal question, but do you have a girlfriend Mr. Potter?" Stifler asked. Rosie stopped her massage and looked up at him as Harry wondered why Stifler would be asking him that.

"… No." Harry answered. It wasn't meant to be threatening, but Harry grew very afraid as an evil grin stretched the blonde's face.

"Well Mr. Potter, I have just the cure for you. Rosie, give Mr. Potter a dose of Fellatio, would you please?" You could _hear_ the smile in Stifler's voice.

"My pleasure, doctor." Rosie purred, sliding around to Harry's front like a cat. She took his chin in her pointer and thumb and raised his head so that he was looking her in the eyes. More than once, his eyes quickly darted down to her barely-contained breasts.

"Just try to relax, okay Mr. Potter?" Rosie asked with a pleasant upturn of her vermilion lips. Harry nodded and felt his heartbeat ramp up as she lowered herself to a crouch. Confusion wormed its way through his consciousness when she unclasped his belt and it turned to outright shock when she slid his pants and underwear down.

"W-what are you doing?" He managed to sputter in shock. Rosie rolled her eyes up at him and smiled cheekily.

"Treating your stress, Mr. Potter. Just relax and enjoy it." She breathed before flicking her tongue out to graze the head of his manhood. The warm and wet muscle stroking his extremely sensitive appendage made Harry twitch as a small shock went up through his pelvis. With eyes unwaveringly boring into his, Rosie kissed Harry's crown slowly. She kissed it again, her lips moving slightly lower. After several more kisses were laid on his head, Rosie lowered her lips and began to slide his shaft into her mouth ever so slowly. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the sensations brought on by Rosie's wonderful tongue and lips. Looking back down, Harry noted that her very short skirt had ridden up enough for him to note that she wore no underwear.

For a few minutes, Harry simply sat and enjoyed Rosie toying with his penis. When he looked down at the barmaid/nurse's cream-coloured behind again, he was compelled to reach down and gently stroke it. Her skin was warm to the touch, and she sighed softly when Harry squeezed one of her cheeks. That sigh sent a pleasant tingle across his manhood, and Harry exhaled quietly. Rosie's head continued to bob over Harry's crotch and the pleasure the mildly drunk teen felt continued to rise. Leaning against his desk, Stifler was simply content to watch, grinning in that shit-eating way only he could pull off.

"Alright Rosie, I think that should be enough," Stifler suggested. Rosie ceased her treatment of Harry's stress with a distinct _pop_. "I think it's high time to drain the stress out of him, don't you?" He asked. Rosie's smile became downright devious.

"_Definitely_," she breathed as she rose from her crouching position between Harry's legs. Harry followed her movement intently, gently placing his hands on her waist as she hooked a leg over him. As she placed her hands on his shoulders and started to lower her body, something in Harry's brain clicked, cluing him in on what Rosie was about to do. As his luck would have it, he didn't clue in until Rosie had enveloped his manhood in her warm flesh. Harry let out a startled breath as his innocence was finally stolen by one of the most attractive women he had ever met.

"Feeling better, Mr. Potter?" Stifler asked slyly. As Rosie leaned in to nibble on his collarbone, Harry caught a glimpse of Stifler pulling off the top of his scrubs. His attention quickly returned to Rosie as she began bouncing in his lap. He threw his head back and groaned. Rosie answered him with a moan of her own. Their song and dance continued for several minutes, picking up as Harry began to lift Rosie's lithe frame and bring her down harder. At some point her breasts had popped out and would occasionally brush Harry's face. More than once, he had suckled on one of the naughty nurse's luscious breasts after it had brushed against his face. Rosie bounced and Harry thrusted until…

"Ah, bloody hell!" Harry grunted as a very strong and peculiar sensation coursed through his lower body. The sensation pulsed as an opaque discharge shot from Harry's manhood and into Rosie's womanhood. The organ twitching inside of her was just enough to set Rosie off. The older witch seized up, her thighs squeezing his and her nails digging into his back as she whimpered in pleasure. The teen and the MILF (Harry wasn't too sure about referring to her as such; he didn't know if Rosie had any kids) remained locked together for a moment longer until she pulled back and latched onto Harry's mouth with her own. Surprised at her insatiability, Harry reciprocated the kiss, clumsily lathering the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Rosie broke the kiss and stared hungrily into his green eyes.

"Feel better, Mr. Potter?" She asked sultrily. Harry sighed long and loud before grinning.

"_Much_," he breathed. Stifler chuckled from his spot nearby.

"Nice job, Nurse Rosie." He praised. "But there might be some residual stress left. Take this, kiddo." He threw Harry a small vial, which the drunken Gryffindor miraculously caught. "That'll give you a little extra boost while Rosie sucks the last bit of stress out of you." Rosie took Harry's hand and led him over to Stifler's large bed after Harry drank the vial, and felt his strength and desire return twofold. She gently pushed him down and instructed him to scoot back. As he did, she grabbed his pants and pulled them off of his legs, followed by his shoes. Craning his head, Harry was just able to catch sight of Stifler doffing his pants as Rosie crawled onto the bed and began to stroke and lick his organ. As his head fell back, he felt the bed shake, and could only assume that, based on Rosie's cry of pleasure, that the older blonde had drove 'Big Poppa Fox' into the witch's womanhood. At the moment though, as long as Rosie kept up what she was doing, he didn't care.

For the first time in a while, Harry felt as though he had escaped the world and the problems it threw at him.

* * *

After half an hour of groans and moans, the sounds of flesh slapping together and popping and large amounts of discharge, the threesome lay back on the bed, each completely slathered in sweat. The rest of their clothing lay strewn about the room.

"Wow," Harry sighed contently. His eyes were almost closed, having discarded his glasses before taking Rosmerta for a second time. Said woman looked over at him, smiling coyly.

"'Wow' is right. I haven't been made love to like that in years." Rosmerta breathed happily. "You were surprisingly good for a virgin, Harry." She quipped as she stroked his cheek. Harry smiled genuinely at her.

"You took this development a lot better than I thought you would, kiddo." Stifler remarked from his upright position. Harry cocked an eyebrow as the blonde reached for something on the bedside table to his left. He attempted to avoid staring at Stifler's rock hard back and baby pumpkin-shaped ass and managed to avert his eyes quickly when the blonde started to turn back around. Stifler flicked his thumb, and a small flame sprang up. He proceeded to bring his thumb up to the end of the large, dark brown cigar he had just reached for. After a couple puffs, the flame on the nub of his finger went out. And Stifler withdrew the cigar to blow out a cloud of undulating smoke.

"What d'you mean, I took this development better than you thought?" Harry half-demanded. Stifler looked at him from the corner of his eye as he handed the smoke to Rosmerta, who began to take her own drag.

"I mean that I've heard from others that you're not the keenest at trying new things, and that except for Batgirl and Robin, you're pretty closed off to everyone else. I thought I'd have to get you rip-roaring drunk before you'd go through with this. Turns out I was wrong. Look, my saying that you took this well is a compliment; it means that you're not as bull-headed as I figured you were. And can you honestly say you didn't enjoy yourself?" Stifler asked as Rosmerta handed him the cigar. Staring at it apprehensively for a second, Harry recalled what Stifler had just said and took a drag.

"Atta boy!" Rosmerta grinned appreciatively. "… Although, I guess I shouldn't call you 'boy' anymore. You're a man now." Harry grinned himself as he blew out the surprisingly pleasant-tasting smoke. The threesome continued to smoke the cigar for the twenty-something minutes it lasted between the three of them. Harry moved to gather up his clothes and return to his dorm, but Stifler told him not to bother, just sleep here. Harry avoided thinking about the man lying in the bed with him by snuggling up to Rosmerta's supple breasts and letting the calming effects of both the alcohol and tobacco wash over him. He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

A euphoric Harry Potter left Stifler's room Saturday morning with a noticeable bounce in his step. Those who didn't glance at him in interest actually stopped and stared as the normally reserved boy bounced past them, often smiling, waving or greeting passers-by. Even the sneers and snide comments from the occasional Slytherin did nothing to dampen his mood. His bouncing walk continued into the Great Hall until he slammed down next to Ron and across from Hermione, startling the two of them.

"Morning Ron, morning Hermione!" Harry chirped sunnily as he helped himself to breakfast. His tone and attitude rendered his two friends speechless for a moment.

"… Morning, Harry." Ron said slowly. "What's up with you, mate? You look and sound like you've been hit by a bunch of Cheering Charms." He remarked with his mouth half full. Several students were staring at him in revulsion.

"Whatever do you mean, Ron?" Harry asked innocently, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"Ron's right Harry, you're acting really weird." Hermione corroborated. Harry put down his glass and sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, the untamed blonde mane that was Steven Stifler's hair was visible at the staff table. In unison, cobalt orbs met jade green and grins were exchanged.

"Well Hermione, I really don't know why, but today… I just feel like more of a man." Harry sighed. The two sidekicks were left to puzzle out what exactly Harry meant… for the rest of the weekend.

His good mood came to a halt on Wednesday when the fifth years trudged outside for their second PC class, first thing in the morning. On their timetable for this week, there had been an addendum that had stated that all future classes would be held outdoors until it got 'too cold'. How Stifler would classify 'too cold' was a mystery. Their apprehension had only grown when they saw groups of utterly exhausted looking students in the previous days. When they asked what happened, none of them said anything.

What happens in the Stifmeister's class stays in the Stifmeister's class.

Said upbeat blonde was already waiting for his students, decked out in running pants and an undershirt.

"Morning boys and girls," Stifler greeted the students, all decked out in their old clothes. "I hope you all ate a good breakfast this morning, because you're gonna need it. I'm gonna make sure all of you _hate_ me by the time this class is over." Stifler rubbed his hands together and smirked evilly. Several faint-hearted students gulped.

"Why would you want us to hate you?" Asked Parvati. Stifler rolled his eyes over to her, resulting in her looking away with a pleased smile on her face.

"So when you think me later, it will mean so much more." He answered. "Okay, let's start with some stretches!" And he proceeded to amaze his students with his flexibility. Gymnasts would be impressed by his ability to bend and twist. The students though, they felt woefully inadequate. Most of them were able to stretch only half as well as Stifler. A couple of the Muggleborn girls with gymnastic or sports backgrounds were able to get somewhat close to Stifler's level, but fell short nonetheless.

"Alright!" Stifler called as he sprang up from his splits. "Now that we're all nice and limber…" He took a second to look at the less fit students who were massaging their sore, seldom stretched muscles. "It's time for a warm-up! For today, you kids are going to run a lap around the lake." He walked over to a rock and sat down on it, only to tilt his head to look at his students, who were in turn, looking at him as though he had a cock sprouting out of his forehead. "Um, I'm pretty sure I didn't stutter. Why the fuck are you all standing there with your thumbs up your asses?" He snapped.

"Y-you want us to run around… the _lake_? B-but it's huge!" Pansy Parkinson bleated. "It'll take forever for us to run around it!" Stifler clicked his tongue. As he raised his head, the collective student population felt as though a particularly heavy blanket had been draped over them, preventing them from running away from the bloodthirsty beast that was Professor Stifler. They were well and truly fearing for their lives.

"I _said_…" Stifler growled, his voice deep and more menacing than any student had ever thought possible "a lap around the lake. _NOW_." His last word, which promised pain, spurred the terrified students into action. They took off running like bats out of hell. As he moved away from his teacher, Harry swore he heard the blonde roaring with laughter.

* * *

Stifler did not look pleased.

"Thirty-nine minutes and fifty seconds." He stated, holding a pocket watch in his hand as he glared at his students. "It took the slowest of you limp-dick losers over a quarter of this period to run around the lake." Stifler's stare intensified as he scanned his bent over or supine students. All of them were red faced, gasping for breath as though it would be their last, and drenched in sweat. They were so tired that the boys did not even ogle the girls' chests, visible due to their sweat-soaked shirts.

"Do you want to know what I call that, boys and girls? PATHETIC!" He shouted. Even exhausted, the students still recoiled. He continued to glare at him for a moment until his head snapped to the back of the group.

"Care to say that to my face, Goldstein?" He barked. Every eye turned to the Ravenclaw who winced weakly beneath his sweat-clumped blonde hair. For a second, there was silence.

"Well? I'm waiting," Stifler prompted, crossing his muscular arms. Anthony swallowed nervously.

"I said… um… I'd like to… uh… see you do better." He mumbled. Stifler's face hardened even further. The students grew worried; that look did not seem promising.

"Challenge accepted. And Mr. Goldstein, for your lip, you and the rest of your peers can start doing push-ups until I finish my lap. Keep an eye on my time." Stifler's order was met with groans and murderous looks at Anthony before the blonde took off running and the kids dropped to the appropriate position.

"Dammit… Anthony! You couldn't… keep… your mouth… _shut_… could you?" Padma Patil grunted in between weakly lifting and lowering herself. Multiple grunts sounded in chorus with her.

"I'm sorry…! It just… slipped out!" Anthony growled between push-ups. He was answered by quite a few death threats or promises of bodily harm when they could move again.

By some stroke of fortune, Stifler returned in a mere _four minutes and twelve seconds_. When he received the time it had taken him to sprint around the lake, he grumbled about being out of shape. From there, he joined them in exercising which consisted of multiple sets sit-ups, leg raises, lunges and the oh-so-gruesome exercise known as planking. The torturous forty-five minutes ended with Stifler allowing them a fifteen minute break, and providing them with bottles of ice-cold water, which they all guzzled down gratefully. Their gratitude wore out in the snap of a finger when Stifler told hem that their last exercise would be to run around the lake again.

"Professor," Hermione wheezed as she bent over, "you said you would (gasp) be teaching us how to fight. When will we (wheeze) learning how to fight?" She asked. Stifler exhaled steadily. The blonde was barely breathing any faster than normal, and the only other evidence of his participation in the class was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and around his armpits.

"When I say you're strong and fast enough. Now get running or I'll chase you!" He barked while cracking his knuckles. Having witnessed Stifler's near effortless trouncing of Malfoy the week previously, the teens took off as fast of their protesting muscles would allow them. They made it around slower than their first time, and Stifler ordered them to work on their endurance by exercising outside of his class. "As 'homework'." He said.

As he passed the older teen, Harry glared at Stifler. Meeting his eyes, Stifler simply stuck his tongue out, which Harry responded to by rolling his eyes.

He didn't care if the sick blonde had gotten him laid; hating him was so much easier than liking him at this point. That feeling carried on through the rest of the agonizingly painful day, right until his head hit his pillow and he succumbed to sleep instantly.

* * *

**And that's a wrap! Chapter 5 of 'The World Order' ladies and gents!  
Some of you have been asking about what exactly the Order is. I promise that I will explain it later on, provided that you do the following:**

**-1- Tell me whether or not you liked this installment**

**-2- Tell me what you SPECIFICALLY liked about this installment**

**-3- Tell me what you specifically DIDN'T like about this installment**

**-4- Recommend a suitable improvement**

**Catch you cats on the flip-flop,**

**Dirty Reid**

**P.S.: The Game **


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